


Stretch and Release

by Kelleesi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheerleader AU, Everyone's a cheerleader, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I don't want to say enemies to lovers but there's a bit of a rocky start ok, Idiots in Love, Idiots to friends to lovers, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, The slowest of the burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelleesi/pseuds/Kelleesi
Summary: He felt like he was in a dream. A nightmare, actually, would be more accurate. And the whole thing was of his own doing. That was the worst part.He should never, ever listen to Hot Pie.ORGendry finds himself on the Winterfell University cheerleading team. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Edric "Ned" Dayne/Lommy Greenhands (minor), Hot Pie (ASoIaF)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 612
Kudos: 458
Collections: Still Rowing: A Gendrya Centric Fanfic Collection





	1. August

“No.”

“I haven’t even finished!”

“The answer is no, Hot Pie.”

“Okay, but hear me out.”

Gendry set his pen down, and exhaled through his nose, praying for patience.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Hot Pie a curt nod. Maybe it would be better to just get this shit over with.

“So, listen. Maggie has been on the squad for years, right, and girls _really_ like it when you take an interest in their interests -”

Yeah, no, he had heard enough. He turned back to his book -

“ _And_ \- no, listen, it will be good for you, too.”

Hot Pie seemed to sense that his miniscule window of opportunity was closing, and the words tumbled out faster and faster.

“It’s important to have… hobbies, you know. Something to get you out of this room, because right now it’s work and class and that’s it -”

He tilted his head and furrowed his brow at Hot Pie. Surely he did not think insinuating that Gendry had no life was an effective way to win him over. Whether it was true or not was irrelevant.

“And,” Hot Pie was looking around their shared room somewhat frantically, “There will be _girls_. _Tons_ of girls!” His face was open and earnest, and he really did look excited.

Gendry couldn’t care less.

“Girls. Great.”

Hot Pie nodded enthusiastically.

“ _Yes,_ that’s what I’m saying! So tryouts are this Thursday -”

“No.”

His face fell, and Gendry felt a twinge of remorse. He shoved it down quickly. This was _not_ something he was remotely interested in subjecting himself to. He turned away from Hot Pie, deeming the conversation over -

“So... that’s a maybe?”

He threw his pen at Hot Pie’s head.

***

“So, for tryouts, do you want to head together, or should I just meet you there?”

Gendry didn’t respond.

“You’re right. Let’s just meet there. They’re on Thursday, remember.”

He pinched the area between his brows where a headache was starting to form, and prayed, yet again, for patience. 

***

“I figured it out.”

Gendry looked up in exasperation. On most levels, Hot Pie was a fine mate to share a dorm with. _Most_ of the time. This week, though, he just wouldn’t shut it, and he was pushing his luck. 

He glared across the room. 

“Figured _what_ out, Hot Pie.”

He wondered to himself, briefly, why he was even bothering to entertain this conversation. He had things to do, and chances are this would be more bullshit about -

“Why you don’t want to come to tryouts.”

Yep.

How many times were they going to have this conversation? Gendry chose, once again, not to respond. He should know by now that that was not enough to get through to Hot Pie that he wasn’t interested. 

“You’re probably worried that you won’t make it. Don’t have what it takes. I get it. It’s okay to be scared.”

Gendry shook his head to himself. He wondered who these people were, out there in the universe, that fell for reverse psychology shit like this. 

He didn’t give a flying fuck if Hot Pie thought he was scared. He just didn’t want to be a cheerleader. And, honestly, that seemed perfectly reasonable to him. 

“You’re right, Hot Pie. I’m glad the truth is out there. Thanks for understanding.”

Hot Pie opened his mouth - and then promptly shut it again. He frowned to himself, before glaring at Gendry reproachfully. Eventually he let out a derisive snort, before stalking out of their shared room. 

Finally. Some peace and quiet. 

***

Despite Hot Pie’s near incessant badgering, Gendry really felt immune to his pleas to come with him to cheerleading tryouts. He couldn’t think of anything he would hate more, actually, and that was saying something.

If you had asked him, that morning, if there was _anything_ Hot Pie could say to him to change his mind, he would have responded with his favourite word - _No_.

He hated being wrong (not as much as he would hate cheerleading, though, surely).

He should have known something was different the instant Hot Pie approached him. His pleading, earnest energy was gone, replaced by something much more sinister.

Hot Pie seemed… calm. Confident. Smug, even.

Gendry eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s really great, you know, that student athletes get so many benefits.”

Gendry blinked at him. Was this the beginning of the conversation? Had he missed something?

“You know. Access to the special gyms. Private tutors, if they need. _Scholarships_.”

He narrowed his eyes at Hot Pie, who was inspecting his fingernails, avoiding Gendry’s gaze, and looking entirely too innocent.

“Anyway. Wish me luck at tryouts!” Hot Pie shot him a grin - it was a smug grin, an ‘ _I got you now’_ grin, and -

Fuck.

***

Thursday came.

Gendry felt a twinge of regret that he’d kept his mouth clamped shut while Hot Pie planned this. He’d already arranged that they would meet there.

It would just be nice to have some reinforcements, is all. He felt, walking towards the gym, like he was heading towards his own demise, and likely the worst decision of his young adult life. It’d be nice not to be alone, for that walk. 

He supposed the fact that he _was_ by himself was his own fault, too. 

He couldn’t help but feel that he maybe wasn’t making the best choices lately.

***

Tryouts were, in a sense, his own personal hell. Gendry tried not to think of what that would mean for the remainder of the year, if he were to actually make the team and force himself into this for the long haul. 

They were being held in the campus gymnasium, and he looked around in mild horror at how full the massive space was. Who knew this many people gave a fuck about… team spirit, or whatever the hell it was they did here. 

Hot Pie was right about one thing - there _were_ a lot of girls. And they didn’t seem to… wear much. He tried not to pay attention to that. It was probably frowned upon. And besides, if one of them saw him looking, they might think he wanted to talk to them. That was the last thing he needed. It was hard not to look, though, when they were everywhere. He figured he’d best fix his gaze at the ceiling for the remainder of the evening.

Dejectedly, Gendry tried to remind himself what the hell he was doing here. He thought of the scholarship money, and what it would mean to not have to work double shifts at Mikken’s before pulling all-nighters before going to class, all the while somehow watching his student loans pile up higher and higher -

“Smile!”

He didn’t feel like smiling. He was thinking grim thoughts. He sighed to himself. No matter how uncomfortable he felt here, being on this team had to be an easier way to help with his financial situation than taking on more shifts. It just had to. It was less time consuming, at least, and it had to be less work. It would be worth it. 

The fifth time the peppy voice called out to everyone to smile, he was contemplating if it wouldn’t be better to just drop out of school entirely. 

He frowned more. 

Gendry couldn’t help but notice, about halfway through (he hoped - how long could this thing possibly be?), that there was no way this was going well for him. They really seemed to want smiles, which he was vehemently resisting, and they had done some kind of stretching thing where it was made abundantly clear that he was not accustomed to moving his body in ways that were apparently necessary for this, and… he wasn’t sure what assets he would exactly be bringing to this team.

His failure wasn’t exactly a shock, but…

This was a complete waste of time, patience, and dignity if he blew it immediately and didn’t make the team. Then he (obviously) would not be getting any type of scholarship, and he might as well have just stayed home tonight and spared himself all of this pain. He took a deep breath, and really tried to smile.

It didn’t work. He hoped he looked a little bit less angry, though, at least. That would just have to do.

Somebody blew a whistle, and it was announced that next they would be learning a dance -

A _dance?_

Gods, this kept getting worse and worse. He could not dance. Not at all. No. He should just leave now. It was a lost cause. 

He came, he tried, he did not succeed. Nothing new there. Might as well just call it a day. 

Three girls were standing at the front of the gym, in matching little outfits - he assumed he was supposed to be following their lead, as they started bouncing around. He had no idea what the hell they were doing. 

He scratched the back of his head, attempting to look nonchalant while he scuttled towards the exit.

This was his chance to escape, nobody was looking at him, everybody’s attention was focused on the girls at the front -

Except Hot Pie, apparently. 

Damn him. Why was he so focused on Gendry? Shouldn’t he be trying to cozy up to Maggie? Was that not the whole point of this? He was wasting a valuable opportunity here. 

Hot Pie had seized his arm, and shot him a shining, encouraging grin, and -

Hot Pie really had the ‘smiling’ part mastered already. He truly seemed like he was in his element, but - damn him, nonetheless. He had ruined Gendry’s chance of escape without incident. There was no way Hot Pie would let him skulk out of here now. 

He scowled. 

Reluctantly, he brought his gaze to the girls at the front of the gym. They were counting, and stepping, and their arms were moving - was he actually expected to do all of this? At the same time? He glanced towards Hot Pie. That was a mistake. He seemed like he had known this stupid dance his whole life. Gendry still had not yet moved.

He took a deep breath. Okay. He could do this. He might embarrass himself, sure, but - there were worse things.

***

Two minutes later, Gendry determined that there were not, in fact, worse things. He had no idea what any moves of this dance were, he kept stepping the wrong way and running into Hot Pie, and the girls had just left the front - was he supposed to have been memorizing this? He didn’t know it in the first place, in order _to_ memorize it.

He wished he was smaller. Everything he did felt clumsy, and he felt very… visible. Noticeable. And not in a good way.

He caught a glimpse of the coach, observing them all, taking notes down - there was no way she hadn’t seen him. It was over for him, then. He sighed.

Well, the pressure was off him, then, at least. He’d just have to get through the rest of this horror, and then he could go home, and he’d never have to come back.

***

Finally, _finally_ the dreaded dance was over. The coach was gesturing, and announcing something, and, as usual, Gendry had no idea what was happening. A few guys were grouped closely together at the front, along with one of the small girls who helped to teach the dance. He recognized her, from earlier. She was cute, tiny, with dark hair and big eyes, and -

Not that that was important. 

He tried to stay focused on the matter at hand. 

It seemed like there was another demonstration on its way, and he cursed internally at what he would be expected to embarrass himself with next -

Then all of a sudden they had launched the girl into the air, and she was flipping and spinning and oh dear Gods now she was on her way down -

They caught her (safely, he hoped), and put her back on the ground, and she waved as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. What in seven hells...

Gendry may have swallowed his tongue - his heart was hammering, as the girl's life had just flashed before his eyes, and he looked around for someone to share his shock with. 

Nobody else seemed too fazed, really. 

Okay. It was official. 

These people were all out of their Gods-damned minds. 

***

The coach - okay, the coach terrified him. She was tall, imposing, and freakishly calm considering what she was asking these people to do in the name of ‘team spirit’. She wandered through the gym, grouping people together based on Gods-knows-what. Gendry looked at his feet when she came near - maybe she would just skip over him entirely. After that whole dance debacle.

No such luck.

She paired him up with a tall, lean bloke who introduced himself as Lommy, and -

The girl from the demonstrations.

She terrified him, too.

Anyone that was going to launch themselves into the air like a maniac like that clearly had no common sense - not to mention any sanity whatsoever.

She _was_ cute though. Even more-so up close, and -

He wished he didn’t notice. He had enough to worry about right now.

“Put your hands on her waist,” Lommy urged enthusiastically. Gendry just blinked at him. 

“Girl, don’t be shy!”

Was he ‘Girl’ in this situation? He shook his head slightly. He better buck up. He was supposed to -

Okay. Well, he could do that. That was fine. He grasped her waist, gently, as she stood in front of him. Gods, his hands looked huge compared to the size of her. She reached back for him and grabbed his wrists. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. He ignored it. 

“Okay, so on my count, we’re gonna dip and then lift, nice and easy, just hold on the whole way through, you ready?”

No, he was not ready. What was he doing?

“Great, let’s go, 5,6,7,8 dip 1,2 lift 3!”

He - oh. He missed it. He did not lift three. He didn’t lift at all. The girl glanced over her shoulder at him with her eyebrows raised. He groaned internally. This was a mess. 

“Okay, baby, don’t worry about it, we’ll recount, you ready? Yes? Okay, and, 5,6,7,8…”

This time he did lift. It might have happened at the time it was supposed to - but maybe not. Either way, though, at least the girl was in the air. He set her back down, as softly as he could. Gods, she was a tiny little thing. He felt like he needed to grip her tightly, to keep her nice and safe, but he didn’t want to… leave a bruise, or crush her organs, or something. How tight was he supposed to grab? This seemed like vital information. Why had no one mentioned this?

Lommy was clapping, and exuding more enthusiasm than Gendry had in his entire life so far. 

“Arya, love, how was that for you?”

The girl (Arya, he supposed) gave him a cursory glance. He felt like some kind of animal up for auction (and then, most likely, about to be slaughtered). Her face was impassive, and she shrugged. 

“Well. He’s strong.”

Gendry felt a rush of pride flow over him, before he remembered that she was clearly unimpressed by this fact, and that there was a very high probability that she’d noticed that he was utterly useless at everything else, and he wasn't going to make the team anyway.

***

And then, finally, it was over. He had done a few more lifts with Arya and Lommy, before being shown to a wall where he was asked to jump as high as he could - he wasn’t sure how this was going to help determine his skills, but he gave it a shot. He had stopped trying to understand the logic that was supposedly at play here.

He was grabbing his bag, ready to make his escape, when he saw the coach (Brienne, he had learned her name was) striding towards him. She had a very strong sense of purpose in her gait - Gendry couldn’t help but feel that this could not mean anything good for him. 

“Gendry, right?”

She consulted her clipboard. He nodded, dread twisting his insides. He felt anxious, and he didn’t even know what outcome he was hoping for. That made it even harder to know what the hell was going on.

On the one hand, he was worried she would tell him he was useless and he should go home. That, while being unpleasant and certainly embarrassing, would carry the benefit that he would not ever need to return. So maybe he wanted her to say that, actually.

But the scholarship - his heart sank.

He could really, _really_ use that. And he had blown his chance, probably, because he couldn’t get his feet and his arms to move right with any sense of rhythm. He probably couldn’t jump high enough, either.

Gendry just nodded at Brienne, not meeting her eyes. He could feel them, though, and he felt like he was being X-rayed. He wondered what she saw with her penetrating stare, and if it was anything other than an angry, bull-headed student who couldn’t smile or dance to save his life.

“I’m curious as to your intentions when it comes to my team. You don’t strike me as someone who would normally be… interested in this type of activity.”

He sighed. Everyone could take one look at him and tell he didn’t belong here. She’d already determined it herself. No point in lying, then, really. But he still hated saying it.

He could feel his jaw clenching, and did his best to get the words out in something remotely resembling a polite manner.

“Just… could really use the scholarship. I’m - yeah. Things are… you know.”

He stared at the ground. Coach Brienne likely did _not_ know, not at all. Sometimes he forgot that most people didn’t. That the majority of the population didn’t grow up wondering when the next time they would eat would be, and whether they would have a roof over their heads a month from now.

“Your family isn’t in a position to help you? Financially?”

He couldn’t help but bring his eyes to hers at her statement. He looked at her in disbelief. Did she not think he would have sought that out, first, if it was a viable option? 

“Haven’t got any family.” Gendry tried to keep the words as polite as possible. He’s pretty sure he failed, and he sounded every bit like the grumpy prick he was.

Coach Brienne was still studying him. He felt supremely uncomfortable.

“Hmm.” It seemed that was all she had to say about it. Gendry’s skin crawled, and he just wanted to get out of here, back to his dorm so he could forget this whole night ever happened -

“Next practice is on Sunday. Six PM. I’ll have the scholarship forms for you to fill out. Don’t be late.”

She strode off, leaving Gendry blinking at her retreating form. He closed his mouth as promptly as he could upon realizing it was hanging open.

What had just happened?

Was he on the team, then? This year wasn’t going to be anything close to what he had been expecting as of approximately one week ago.

He felt like he was in a dream. A nightmare, actually, would be more accurate. And the whole thing was of his own doing. That was the worst part. 

He should never, _ever_ listen to Hot Pie.

***

They walked back to the dorms together, though, and Gendry still felt like he was in a daze. Some bizarre alternate reality, and soon he would wake up and everything would be back to normal. Hot Pie spent the entire trip home babbling about the amazing talent of the team, the winning reputation of coach Brienne, how much he learned already -

Gendry couldn’t help but notice that, despite it apparently being the main reason for his desire to join the team in the first place, Hot Pie didn’t mention Maggie once the whole walk back.

He was starting to wonder if Hot Pie hadn’t tried out for the team for a different reason entirely.


	2. September

He’s not sure how Sunday night came so quickly. It must have to do with that saying, about when you’re really not looking forward to something…

Regardless. In what seemed to him to be an extraordinarily short amount of time, he found himself making the dreaded trek back to the gymnasium, for the first official practice of the season.

At least Hot Pie was with him. He was choosing to consider this a positive, for the time being, despite the fact that they were clearly not on the same page here.

Hot Pie couldn’t have been more enthused if he tried, while Gendry… yeah. He wasn’t quite there.

***

Gendry couldn’t help but notice, upon his arrival, that there were actually quite a few less people than there had been at tryouts. He supposed some cuts must have been made, and wondered, bemusedly, how the hell he and Hot Pie had not been a part of them.

At least it was less crowded now. Hopefully he could get through the whole evening without having to interact with anyone.

No wonder team sports were not really his thing.

***

Coach Brienne continued to live up to his initial judgment of her as terrifying. Before anyone had even started doing anything, they were sat down in front of her as she conducted a passionate speech outlining her expectations - words like ‘integrity, leadership, and honour’ were thrown out. Gendry tried his best not to snort (if he did, surely Coach Brienne would break him in half). He wasn’t sure what all those qualities had to do with dancing and throwing people around, but hey. If it made the lot of them happy, and feel important, he’d just have to go along and try to keep his eye rolls to a minimum.

Coach Brienne ended her dramatic monologue in equally dramatic fashion, stating that anyone who took issue with these expectations was free to leave immediately. She gestured for the door. Nobody moved. Gendry felt even more uncomfortable than usual.

He felt like he was being watched, and he turned -

The girl was definitely looking at him (glaring, maybe, would be more accurate). Arya, from tryouts. Did she think he wanted to leave? He didn’t want to leave.

Well, actually, he sort of did, but -

Gods, he was already so mixed up. He looked away quickly.

***

The actual _practice_ part of practice finally began, and Gendry was reminded yet again of how woefully inflexible he was. He didn’t understand how these people were bending in the ways that they were. There was no way it could be good for them. Maybe stretching was just not his thing, and he could somehow avoid it next time. Go to the bathroom during that time, or something. For the remainder of the year.

Soon enough, though, they were moving on, and being put into groups again. Gendry checked the clock. How only twenty minutes had gone by since he’d arrived was utterly beyond him.

He was paired up with Arya, just like at tryouts. He hadn’t forgotten the glare she had given him during Coach Brienne’s speech (which made sense, since it had just happened) and he wasn’t sure what, if anything, he should say to her. He couldn’t think of a damn thing.

He kept quiet.

They worked together, in relative silence, for the next half hour - he lifted her, again and again, and then eventually he was letting go, just for an instant, and he’d catch her again on the way down, and… it was quite tedious, really. And tense, what with the whole silent treatment situation that was going on (he’s pretty sure she started it, but he wasn’t really in a position to finish it. He still couldn’t think of one word to say).

He scowled the whole time.

He was so focused on this unique brand of torture that he had subjected himself to, that he almost jumped when she actually did speak to him. Coach Brienne blew her whistle, and they were moving on to the next Gods-forsaken thing, when -

“I’m Arya. Stark.”

“Stark? Like… the library?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Somehow he was not surprised.

He watched her silvery eyes harden, and a crease formed between her brows. She obviously didn’t appreciate this observation, for reasons that were utterly beyond him. 

He tried to salvage things, but he wasn’t really too sure how, or what he had done wrong in the first place. 

“I’m Gendry.”

He cursed himself. That was all he could think of?

She raised an eyebrow at him. She still looked unimpressed. 

“I know.”

She turned abruptly, and her ponytail swung at him violently - was that her intention? Then she was stalking off, and he was left standing alone, blinking rapidly, and trying to make sense of that odd, tense interaction.

He felt off-kilter. A little bit out of sorts. 

She unnerved him. That must be it.

***

Next practice, he was paired up with her again.

And then again.

And again.

And each time, he didn’t know what to say, and each time, she seemed utterly unimpressed with him. That would have to stop soon, though, he figured. It must. Once he got used to her.

Or Coach Brienne took pity on him and paired him up with someone else. Either one would be fine.

***

“Why are you here?”

Oh, Gods, Arya was talking to him again. He _still_ wasn’t used to her, is all. At least, that’s what he told himself when his mouth went dry and his brain got all jumbled up and he couldn’t put sentences together whenever she came around. 

“I’m - it’s time for practice. I’m… on the team?”

Did she not remember him? Had he dreamt their previous interactions?

She rolled her eyes. Okay, that was comforting. That seemed normal. 

“I _know_ that. I’m asking why. It doesn’t exactly seem like you want to be here, so… why _are_ you, really?”

She had turned the full force of her silvery eyes on him, and it was making it very difficult for him to think but he had to come up with something -

“And don’t lie.”

Well, shit. What the hell else was he supposed to do? He didn’t like lying, generally, but the thought of telling Arya ‘my family is so rich they basically own this entire school’ Stark that he was desperate for scholarship money seemed like a much, _much_ worse option. Just thinking about having to admit that to her spread a hot flush through him - in a decidedly unpleasant way. He’d have to think of something else, and make it convincing enough that he could fool her and her damn eyes that seemed like they could see through his entire soul -

He took too long. 

“Gods, never mind, don’t bother. It’s obvious anyways, I just thought you might own up to it, at least.”

All his complimentary thoughts about her eyes came to a crashing halt as he realized what she had said. She - what? It was that obvious, to her, that he needed this to get through his degree? That he had nothing, and that he came from even less? She didn’t know a thing about him, and already she could tell. Maybe it was a rich kid thing - they could sniff out those that didn’t belong, with nothing more than a passing glance. He ground his teeth together to keep himself from letting her know just what he thought of her observations. 

It angered him even more that it stung as much as it did. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him, anyway. She clearly had no idea what it meant to live in the real world, and have to work and fight and sacrifice to get what you wanted -

He had nothing to add to this conversation. He turned on his heel abruptly, and was about to storm out of the gym -

He couldn’t do that, though. Because practice was just starting. And he’d voluntarily tried out for this Gods-forsaken team, so he couldn’t just _leave_ -

He fumed for the entire practice, and the whole way back to his dorm.

And for most of the night. And, maybe, the whole next day. 

***

Gendry was still paired up with Arya at every practice, and he had begun to get the sneaking suspicion that it would not be changing anytime soon. He wondered what he had done in a past life to deserve this punishment. The lifts were getting harder, too, and he was properly throwing her now, and he just didn’t think any of it was going particularly well.

It’s not that Arya wasn’t good. He was sure she was. He had seen her working with others, more experienced guys on the team, and… okay, he had no fucking clue, but she seemed like she knew what she was doing.

While he certainly did not.

And he was very aware of this fact on his own. He didn’t need her pointing it out to him, time after time.

That didn’t stop her. Of course.

“You have to grab my feet. What are you expecting me to stand on?”

Her fucking high horse, maybe? He bit his tongue.

“Wrong count.”

Damn. He thought it might be.

“Wrong count again.”

Okay, fuck. When were they supposed to dip, again?

“You do know _how_ to count, don’t you?”

By the end of practice, Gendry couldn’t decide if he was more angry at Arya or himself. He wasn’t _purposefully_ trying to get things wrong.

He could understand that she was used to dealing with a partner who had a lot more experience than Gendry himself did. That was fine. It must get aggravating. 

But regardless.

He didn’t really see how she thought these comments were meant to be constructive.

Add that to the fact that she had hated him from the first, based on nothing (other than his desire for a scholarship, fucking sue him) - she was a pain in his ass, is what she was.

He didn’t know why he cared what she thought of him at all. He certainly didn’t like _her_ much. 

(He did care, though. And that - _that_ was the most irritating part of the whole damn thing.)

***

One Sunday in late September, Brienne announced that they would not be doing any stunts that evening. Gendry’s heart soared - if they weren’t stunting, then he wouldn’t have to hang out beside Arya, as she glared at him and called him an idiot -

His happiness quickly turned to dread, when the plan for what they _would_ be doing was revealed. 

They would be spending the next few hours doing… choreography. _Dance_ choreography. 

He cursed.

He’d rather be abused by Arya than subject himself to this.

Podrick, Brienne’s assistant coach and the team’s head choreographer, wasted no time getting everyone set into their formations -

Gendry tried to get as far back as possible. Maybe Podrick would just forget about him, and he could stand like a pillar, or something, and not have to move -

No such luck.

Podrick sent Alys his way, and mentioned that they would be doing ‘partner work’ for most of the dance. He glanced at Gendry, and muttered a low, “I’m sure you understand.”

He did not understand.

Dancing with a partner seemed _worse_ than dancing by himself. Now he would be responsible for two people doing a terrible job, as he undoubtedly would mess the whole thing up -

Oh. 

It turned out ‘partner work’ was just another word for more lifting. Why wouldn’t Podrick have just said that?

Still - this would be alright, then. He felt a lot more confident in his ability to lift little Alys up onto his shoulder than he did in anything that involved coordinated movement.

Alys was nice, actually. She smiled an awful lot, at least, which seemed more in line with what he had expected from the other team members (not that he was still thinking about Arya right now, when this had nothing to do with her, because he definitely was not).

He was pretty sure Alys was a freshman - she seemed young. And she was definitely a bit nervous - she would stammer sometimes, and laugh when nothing funny was going on.

But she didn’t make him feel stupid, or angry, or… inadequate. He couldn’t deny that it was a nice change, and by the end of the practice, when they’d gotten their whole section mastered, and she beamed at him, he couldn’t help but give her a small smile in return.

At least someone on this team (other than Hot Pie) didn’t despise him.

Maybe it would be okay, after all.

His relief was short-lived, as he locked eyes with Arya, across the mat, and caught the look on her face -

She really, _really_ hated him. He fought down the disappointment and anger that twisted in his gut.

***

“Stay away from Alys.”

Gendry felt his jaw clench, as the anger he was too familiar with pulsed through him like a poison.

“She’s young. Impressionable. She’s a good kid.”

Arya threw her water bottle into her bag, and swung it onto her shoulder with a surprising amount of menace.

He felt like he was being threatened, mildly, and he had had just about enough of this shit. What the hell had he done, other than what Podrick had asked of him? Was it really that unacceptable to her that somebody might not hate him as much as she did? She really thought Alys spending one practice in his presence was going to taint her that strongly?

“You’re unbelievable.” He spat the words out at her. He knew his tone was harsh, and cutting, and he didn’t like to let his anger get the best of him, normally, but…

He hoped she could feel it, rolling off of him, and that she would get the message and back the fuck off.

Before he really lost it.

***

Back in his dorm, as his blood boiled, Gendry decided he was about ready to lose it, after all. He couldn’t stop his mind going over all of the slights that had been sent this way, and, quite honestly - he had had enough, and he was going to say something. He would tell Arya Stark just where she could shove it, if she thought she was so much better than him because of who her father was and where she grew up.

Really. He would.

Unfortunately, he didn’t quite get the chance.

(But he would have, if he did. _Really_.)

***

“Is, um, is this seat taken?”

He examined her suspiciously. This girl looked like Arya. Sounded like Arya. Even smelled like -

He cut that thought short. 

He didn’t know or care what Arya smelled like. 

It couldn’t be her, though, because Arya Stark hated him, and, more importantly, Arya Stark was never nervous. 

He gestured vaguely (and rather stiffly) for her to sit beside him at the table he was occupying in the library. He couldn’t think of what the hell else to do. 

Gendry tried to just ignore her, and focus on his assignment, but she was -

She was freaking him out. She was chewing on her lip, and tapping her feet, and just kind of sitting there anxiously, like she was waiting for the apocalypse or something. 

He thought, briefly, that maybe he should try to calm her down. 

Almost immediately, though, he remembered once again that she hated him (and that he hated her right back. And was just waiting for the right moment to let her know that. Obviously. He would do it right now, but the library just wasn’t a good place for that sort of thing). 

He hoped she didn’t notice how shocked he was when she started voluntarily speaking to him, in a tone of voice that (for once) did not contain any venom.

“Listen, I -“

She broke off. She really looked miserable. Did she think he wasn’t listening? Because he was. He blinked at her in confusion. Who was this pod person sitting in front of him?

“I’ve been an ass. And I just wanted to… say that I’m sorry. I thought - I didn’t know that… you joined the team for the scholarship. So.”

She scuffed the toe of her boot on the ground. He tried to follow what the hell she was talking about. Was this really happening? She was apologizing? He didn’t know what to do. He had not anticipated this. He’d been gearing up for a war, not a truce.

He swallowed. 

“S’fine.”

She immediately looked immensely relieved, and also as if she was about to bolt -

And he had a few things he wanted to get straightened out, first. Because some things were not making sense, here. 

“You said you did know. You said it was ‘so obvious’.” He could have tried harder, probably, to keep the accusation out of his voice. He didn’t, though.

Arya winced. And he should have appreciated that, as some small bit of vindication, but he was distracted as he watched what looked like a blush begin to creep up her neck. It appeared to start lower down, below the collar of her sweater, and he wondered how far it went -

He tore his gaze away. He had to focus, here. He was mad at her, and he was questioning her. This was important.

“Yes. That. I did say that. Look, obviously - I was wrong. And I _hate_ being wrong, and I feel wretched, and can we please just… start over?”

Her blush was spreading further, up to her cheeks, tinging them pink, like -

Fuck, he really needed to pay better attention. 

He frowned. As much as he appreciated her apology, and as adorable as she looked sitting there getting flustered, it was actually kind of a giant piss off that she had been treating him like complete and utter shit for no reason this whole time. 

It brought him slight satisfaction that now, at least, she was looking supremely uncomfortable. 

And… really, a do-over might be nice. They were being paired up a lot, at practice, and it didn’t seem like that was going to be stopping anytime soon. It would save him a lot of headache, if they were… civil.

Friendly, even.

He tried to ignore the warmth that spread through him as he thought of that. He failed, entirely, and he blames that for how easily he gave in. Before he knew it he was nodding, and she was smiling, at _him_ , and it was a little bit blinding, and he couldn’t really think straight -

She was clearly set to leave, now that their business was done, and before he could stop himself he was speaking again, unable to tamp down the desire to keep her here, smiling, just for a little bit longer.

“Why did you think I was here? On the team, I mean?”

Because she must have thought _something_. Something other than him being poor, as that, apparently, was not the reason she had initially been condemning him to the seventh hell.

She froze, and her eyes widened. That was interesting.

“No reason! Gotta run!”

And then she was shooting up out of the chair she had occupied so recently, and she was… gone.

Well. Okay, then.

***

Gendry couldn’t deny that, no matter how strange the library incident had been… things did improve, after that.

He could tell Arya was trying extra hard to be nice to him. She started every practice with a lot of enthusiasm, and a smile so big he couldn’t really look right at it.

This tended to deteriorate fairly quickly, as he still managed to drop her feet, and failed to count appropriately, and went to the wrong spots sometimes -

Before long, she would be rolling her eyes at him, and grumbling, and muttering what he was pretty sure was ‘ _Stupid_ ’ under her breath.

But hey. It _was_ an improvement.

Because sometimes, even when she was mocking his intelligence (actually, especially then), she would look at him and her big grey eyes would sparkle, and his stomach would lurch a bit, and he’d feel…

Well, like an absolute idiot.

But still. An improvement.


	3. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October brings much thirst and the revelation that I could not know less about engineering if I tried. Have fun!

Arya did a lot of flips at practice. It was hard not to notice (it’s not like he was always watching her, or anything, but - well, fine, he was sort of always watching her). 

One day he tried to compliment her on it. 

Her only response was to correct him with an eye roll and tell him it was called tumbling. 

That seemed like utter bullshit to him, considering she was doing many flips and he had yet to see her experience anything resembling what he would call a tumble. Whoever named this shit could definitely have done a better job. 

He did like to watch Arya flip, though (or tumble, or whatever-the-fuck). She was graceful, and fearless, and powerful. It was impressive, and made it hard to look at anything else. 

It did carry one problem, though. 

When Arya did lots of flips, she tended to get hot, and if she got hot, she would remove her shirt -

This was problematic. 

The first time it happened, he noticed that his ears got awfully hot. She sauntered up to him, in her sports bra and her little shorts, and he _tried_ to keep his eyes on her face. 

He did a piss-poor job, and he’s sure she noticed, but he did try. 

She turned around and reached back for him, so he could toss her like they’d been practicing -

His mouth felt very dry. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and found himself to be otherwise frozen.

“Are you gonna just stand there, or what?”

So he was still supposed to grab her? It didn’t seem right, that he would just reach out and touch her soft skin (he was sure it was soft. It looked soft) right here in front of everybody like it was totally normal -

“But you’re - your shirt -“

“Gods, are you twelve? Just grab my waist, let’s go.” 

So he did, and he cursed internally at the realization that her skin _was_ soft, and smooth, and having his hands on her made his cock twitch, and -

She was right. He was fucking twelve years old. And he had better get his head on straight, because he had no doubts that if she had the slightest inkling of the thoughts he was having, he would not be living for much longer. 

***

“Think you could stretch me out?”

He had just taken that moment to pull a sip from his water bottle - and promptly choked, coughing and spluttering. Once he could breathe again, he registered how hot his face felt. Hopefully she would associate that with his coughing fit, and not as a result of the thoughts that had started racing through his head. 

“Sorry - what?”

He had to buy more time, because all he could think about was how much he wanted to do just that. That wasn’t what she meant, though, surely. His lower half was not on the same page. His mind flooded, suddenly, against his will, with images of Arya, beneath him, with her cheeks flushed and her mouth open as -

All his blood was rushing south, and he needed to get this back on track immediately, before it was too late. He tried mentally reciting Avogadro’s Law of Thermodynamics, for a distraction -

It wasn’t really working, though, and he tried not to panic. He couldn’t go around practice with his dick half-hard, there was no way she wouldn’t notice, and then she would absolutely murder him -

He tried to focus on that, instead. That should work. He didn’t want to die, after all, that would definitely be an inconvenience -

But somehow, in his traitorous mind, her killing him first involved her straddling him, and breathing heavily, and maybe she would change her mind at the last minute and instead -

Fuck, she was talking. He had no idea what she was saying.

He just blinked at her dumbly, and hoped she would take pity on him.

She rolled her eyes, and then she was grabbing his arm (Gods-dammit, her touching him was the last thing he needed right now) and dragging him over to the wall.

He tried to keep his breathing even, and think of angular velocity, or the dual combustion cycle - 

Anything but Arya, who was now leaning against the wall, and kicking her leg up to her ear - how in seven hells did she do that?

“Grab my ankle, and push it back towards the wall. Hold it until I say so.”

He gulped, and his eyes flickered between hers. Was this a joke? She looked serious - and, also, like she did actually need assistance (this was obviously a two-person job, or she wouldn’t have asked him to come over here at all - right?). He stopped thinking, and did as she asked, and -

How did anyone bend this way?

He stared at a spot on the damned wall, above her head, and willed his breathing to go back to normal.

He was trying to keep his body as far away from hers as possible. The last thing he needed was to feel her any closer. He couldn’t keep his thoughts under control as it was. His brain was still running through scenarios, each one somehow more explicit than the last, until he wasn’t sure if this was even really happening, or if it was all actually a dream and he could reach out and just -

“That’s good,” she breathed out. Was she trying to fucking kill him?

His brain was cloudy. Bemusedly, he figured she must mean that was enough, and he should let go -

He did, and stepped away from her faster than he would have thought possible. He wasn’t sure if they were done with this Gods-forsaken activity or not, but _he_ definitely was. He strode away from her with all haste, back to his water bottle - he really didn’t want her to get a good look at his front right now. These shorts were certainly not doing anything to hide the ordeal that he was currently going through.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He sincerely hoped this would not be a regular staple at practice. 

***

And if, afterwards, during his shower, his mind was still clouded with images of laughing grey eyes, and a petite, athletic form -

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, as he closed his eyes and stroked the length of his shaft. She would never know. And this would help him, surely, to get through practices with her. His pace increased and his lips parted as he remembered the feel of her silky skin under his fingers, and how her chest would flush when her heart rate was up.

His head fell back against the shower wall as he imagined it wasn’t his own hand working at him, but the tight, wet heat of her -

It wasn’t the first time the thought of Arya had brought him release, really, but it was the first time he didn’t try to pretend that he wasn’t thinking of her.

He couldn’t help but snort to himself. What a milestone.

***

“It’s called a walk-up.”

“Okay.” She knew that meant nothing to him, right?

“It’s just a different kind of mount.”

“Sure.” Arya continued to appraise him, one eyebrow raised. It did not seem to escape her notice that he had no clue what she was on about.

“You know how we’ve been doing it, from behind, yeah? Well there are _other_ ways, like -”

“I know that.” He knew plenty of other ways. Gendry may not be _great_ with girls, but he wasn’t a green boy. He did know _some_ things, and he was not having a problem coming up with different ways that they could -

Except she wasn’t talking about sex. Right. 

Shit.

Could he really be blamed for forgetting that, though, when she was wandering around barely dressed talking about mounting him and doing things from behind -

It was hardly his fault. 

He felt his neck flush as she inspected him. She looked mildly amused. He prayed to all the Gods that she had no idea what he was actually thinking about.

“Do you?” Gendry was pretty sure she was mocking him, now, and _why_ did she have to look so good standing in front of him like that? This was completely her fault. She was always getting him all mixed up.

He made some odd movement that was a cross between a nod and a shrug. He supposed that would just have to do as far as a response went, because he wasn’t going to trust himself with any words right now.

Arya still seemed like she was trying not to laugh at him. Well, that was just fine. She’d forget about whatever it was that was causing her so much amusement soon enough, surely.

“Lommy!” She called. Perfect. She was already moving on.

“Arya! My darling!” Gendry wondered what it would be like to live with was much enthusiasm as Lommy had. Just for, say, a day or so. Just to see. Because it really seemed exhausting.

Arya and Lommy had been talking - he hadn’t been paying attention. Fuck. Okay, it looked like -

They were going to demonstrate for him. Well, that was actually great, because he didn’t have the slightest clue what he was supposed to be doing -

Oh, no.

Okay, he didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to do this. Arya was facing Lommy, who was holding one of her feet as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

And all of that would be just fine, really, except her tits were absolutely right up in his face as she leaned onto him and he squatted -

Gendry was sure this was all well and good for Lommy. He had a lot less confidence in his own ability to function properly if they were to trade places.

Other things were happening - Lommy was lifting her up, and she was turning, and soon he was holding her above him -

Gendry was having a hard time focusing on what they were actually doing over the alarm bells that were blaring aggressively in his brain.

Far too soon for his liking, the demonstration was complete, and it was his turn. How was he _always_ being subjected to new forms of torture? How would he ever survive the year, at this rate?

He tried to think of anything _but_ Arya’s perfect tits, as he grasped her foot, and she gripped his shoulders, and -

They would fit very nicely in his hands, though. Her sports bra seemed far too low-cut to be practical (maybe that’s just how they were made - he really hadn’t given it much thought, before). It would be so easy, too easy, to just pull it out of the way, and take a nipple into his mouth -

“Are you going to count?”

Yes. Right. Yes. His heart pounded. He had to get out of this situation - and fast. He exhaled through his nose, and tried his best to keep his voice steady. He did alright, with the counting, all things considered, but the walk-up itself - 

It did not go well. 

“Don’t worry, it’s new - we’ll just keep trying.”

Fuck. 

That’s what he was afraid of.

***

It was the third week of October when Arya rolled her ankle. Gendry had been on the side of the floor, ‘stretching’ (apparently, being incredibly inflexible did _not_ mean he could avoid all further stretching for the remainder of the season. It had the opposite effect, where he was expected to work on it all the time, in order to improve - it was not ideal). He had realized, though, that there was an upside to his torture, in that in gave him ample opportunity to...

Not watch Arya, obviously, not like in a creepy way, but just to -

Observe the talent. On the team. As a whole.

And he happened to be watching her, when she ran and flipped and twisted and did a bunch of things that he definitely couldn’t name let alone ever imagine doing, and then she landed, and let out a noise that ripped through him.

It was a yelp, almost like a wounded animal, and every instinct in his body was screaming at him to rush to her, to make sure she was okay, to hold her, maybe, if she wanted -

He fought it down. He may not be the brightest tool in the chandelier, but he _knew_ that her reaction to him rushing to her rescue would certainly not be positive.

Instead, he stayed where he was, heart in his throat, while Brienne helped her hobble to the side of the mat, and they continued to talk in low voices.

Shit.

Gendry hoped to _all_ the Gods (he didn’t care which - whichever fuck felt like listening, at this point in time), that it wasn’t serious, and that she would be alright soon.

He already was a very reluctant member of this team, and even if he would never _ever_ admit it to anyone, being around Arya was… well, the one thing that had begun to make him look _forward_ to each practice, rather than dread them.

But more than that… this was so important to her. She made it glaringly obvious, in every second that she was training, how much this meant to her. If she had to put it on hold, and sit on the sidelines, for who knows how long -

Gendry felt slightly sick.

Arya and Brienne seemed to be looking in his direction, and still urgently discussing things - this did nothing to help with his nausea.

***

Arya’s ankle would be fine. Eventually. It wasn’t fine now, and wouldn’t be for several weeks, but - it would be fine.

Gendry repeated this to himself, like a mantra, a personal prayer, from start to finish of every practice that she was sitting on the sidelines.

Arya sitting out did not mean that Gendry got a break (he had thought, maybe, that it would, seeing as they were partners, and all. That would have been the one plus-side to this whole thing). Of course, he would not be so lucky. 

When he mentioned this to Arya, she looked appalled, and mentioned that he, of all people, was not in a position to be taking a break. He still had a _long_ way to go (her words, not his).

He couldn’t help but agree with her, but it disgruntled him, nonetheless. 

And so it was that Gendry now found himself partnered up with Erena Glover.

She was a freshman, and an alternate on the team. And Gendry was sure she was a perfectly nice girl, and far more talented than he was, but…

It wasn’t the same.

Lifting her - it didn’t feel the same as lifting Arya.

He had a harder time of it, a harder time of everything. It wasn’t that she was any bigger (in fact, he was pretty sure she was smaller - where did they find all of these pocket-sized humans, and why didn’t they grow any bigger?). He just never seemed to know where her feet were going to be, or which direction she was going to go if she was coming down - and she came down a lot.

Gendry was no expert, and not the most observant, but even he noticed that they weren’t up in the air too much. He didn’t get to do the dismounts very often (he had started to really keep track of how many dismounts he was doing - it was the only way for him to have any idea if things were going well or not. Dismounts were good. No dismounts - not good).

It was frustrating.

He hadn’t realized, he supposed, that him and Arya were actually working fairly well together, and that it _was_ satisfying. Every time he caught her feet, and she was up above him, and they did their dismount -

Sometimes she would smile at him, or make an excited noise, and a thrill would go through him. 

That wasn’t happening anymore. Even when him and Erena did stay in the air (which was rarely), everything just felt… harder. If he really was honest with himself, he could admit that _sometimes_ (only sometimes, okay), when he was stunting with Arya… he was having fun. Just a little. 

He hoped he’d get her back soon.

In the middle of a particularly frustrating practice, after what he would estimate to be sixteen falls, an elbow to the face, and a knee to the stomach, Gendry decided that he had earned himself a break. He flopped down beside Arya on a crash mat, and sighed noisily.

He wished he was better at… words, and shit like that. He wanted to tell her. Tell her that he wanted to have her back as his partner, that he would rather lift her than someone else, that this was all even _less_ fun than before (she probably wouldn’t appreciate that, actually). He didn’t know how to say any of that.

He cleared his throat. He should give it a try, at least.

“You’re, uh…”

She looked over at him, and fuck, he hadn’t been this close to her in a while, and he forgot that her eyes were like that, and how cute the light freckles across her nose were, and -

What was he saying?

He blinked a few times, trying to remember. Yes - he was trying to compliment her. That shouldn’t be too fucking hard, giving all the shit that was going through his mind right now - somehow it still was, though.

“You’re pretty good. You know?”

Gods, he was a moron. Arya definitely thought he was a moron. That was the look she was giving him… one eyebrow just slightly raised, no other changes in her expression. This was her ‘you are a moron’ face. He’d seen it all too frequently.

“I know.”

She turned back to face the mats. He supposed his time was up. He wished he had made better use of it. Frowning, he shifted, figuring he should go before he overstayed his welcome -

“It’s because I’m extremely tight.”

He froze, and tried to ignore the flush that was creeping up the back of his neck. He did not need this right now, why did she always do this to him?

“You - sorry?”

He wished his voice didn’t sound so choked.

“Do you listen to Brienne at _all_? She’s always yelling at us to squeeze. So I do, every single time you toss me. It makes a difference.”

Of course. Yes. 

“Right. Yeah - that’s… that makes sense.”

That is 100% what he thought she was talking about. Obviously.

“What did you think I meant?”

Was she fucking with him? She had to be. Right? He let his mind wander, just briefly, to a world where he was confident, and suave, and he’d say something charming and witty right now, and she would blush and laugh -

He just coughed, instead. She might be serious, after all. And if she was - he could not take that risk. She might chop his cock off and feed it to the wolves if she knew what he was thinking.

He had to get out of there, before she saw right through him. 

“Oh, look - I’m supposed to - better get back to it, then!”

He shot up off the mat and hurried back towards Erena. He’s pretty sure he heard Arya laughing behind him as he fled. 

That could not be good.


	4. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember last time I didn't know anything about engineering.. this time I don't know anything about boxing.  
> DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT just pretend it makes sense <3  
> Also apparently trying to set a record for how many times Gendry can stutter, oops

Gendry didn’t like a lot of things. Crowded places, small talk, tiny yappy dogs… mushrooms...

He especially, _especially_ didn’t like Ned Dayne.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t always had a problem with him, really. He hadn’t paid him much mind at all.

Until, the day Arya was finally cleared to practice again (a day Gendry had wholeheartedly been looking forward to, even if he’d never admit it), he was forced to witness _Ned_ doing the stretches with her. Up against the wall. While she bent in all sorts of unbelievable ways, and he pushed against her, and -

That little shit.

Gendry had been in that position himself, not too long ago, so he _knew_ what it was like, and he knew what Ned must be thinking.

His stomach twisted, and he glared at them darkly.

To be fair, Gendry was sure that he himself hadn’t seemed like an enthusiastic participant in this activity. He had, well, run away (there was really no other way to put it) after barely one tortuous minute.

But that didn’t mean he was just going to be fine with somebody else doing it.

_Gendry_ was Arya’s base. He should be the one… doing things. For her. With her? 

Didn’t Ned have his own flyer to help? Why did he have to be all over Gendry’s?

He grimaced as he watched them. Ned appeared to be chatting away, not a care in the world. Curse him.

Gendry wished he had one ounce of Ned’s acting ability. There was no way he could be unaffected, but he was looking like he could stay there all day. 

It registered to Gendry, briefly, that he should probably be doing something other than standing with his arms crossed and glaring daggers at the two of them.

That couldn’t be productive. 

As if he could read his mind, Hot Pie appeared beside him. 

“Whatcha doin’?”

Gendry turned his glare to Hot Pie instead. Sure, _now_ he took an interest. Lately he’d been far too busy at practices to have any time for Gendry - running around, yelling his head off, screaming for everyone anytime they did anything. Gendry found it exhausting to watch, but, to his credit, Hot Pie appeared to have endeared himself greatly to the rest of the team. (It also registered to Gendry, however briefly, that he really had no grounds to be upset with Hot Pie right now. But he had to direct his anger _somewhere._ )

Gendry merely grunted at him, before storming over to his water bottle. He had to cool off before he was expected to interact with Arya, or things would surely go terribly for him. 

Soon enough, she and Ned were done, and she skipped over to him, all chipper and… stretched. He couldn’t help but scowl.

She seemed to pick up on his dark mood. Unsurprisingly. He knew he would be shit at hiding it.

“What’s with you?” 

All he could manage was a derisive grunt. He didn’t really have anything to say that he could imagine her being happy to hear. 

Gendry should have known he wouldn’t get off that easy. Arya didn’t let things go if she wanted answers.

“Gods, you’re even grumpier than usual. Someone piss in your cornflakes?”

He glared at her. Despite her harsh words, she actually seemed... like she cared, a little. He felt himself softening, against his will. Maybe -

No. He couldn’t soften. He was pissed. She had replaced him.

He remembered Ned pressed up against her on the wall, and found his irritation was easily brought back to the surface.

His jaw clenched.

“Found yourself a new partner, I guess?”

He sounded jealous. He could hear it, raging clear as day underneath his words, and if he could hear it, he was certain she could too. Damn. He knew he was too aggravated to try and carry on a conversation with her. He shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Arya’s reaction surprised him. He expected her to spit something back at him, about how it was none of his business, or his own fault for having a shit attitude, or… 

Something along those lines. Instead, she just seemed… mildly amused. 

“Are you talking about Ned?” Disbelief coloured her tone.

Yes, he was clearly talking about Ned. He thought that was completely obvious. Were they having two entirely different conversations, here? He just snorted. Words still kind of seemed like a bad idea.

“Wow.”

She was smiling a bit, actually. She seemed like she was trying to hold it in. She wasn’t doing a great job - he could tell she was barely keeping from laughing, actually. At him. That darkened his mood even further.

She shook her head to herself, and continued to eye him with a smirk - he felt like she knew something he didn’t, maybe, and he wasn’t sure what he was missing. Was he supposed to be amused right now, too? Because he was not.

He rolled his eyes, and suggested they just get to work. He didn’t think much could be gained from going down this dangerous road, talking about Ned and… how it made him _feel_. No thanks. And besides… he’d missed lifting Arya. Maybe that would improve his mood. 

***

Arya didn’t ask Ned to stretch with her again.

Thanks to all of his grumbling, it appeared that job was firmly Gendry’s once more.

He couldn’t help but realize, as she faced the wall and he stood behind her, lifting her leg above her head in a way that no human with bones should be able to bend (and she let out a little groan, and he desperately tried to think of anything other than what it would be like to sink into her, from behind like this, and see what sounds he could pull from her _then_ -), that he was right back where he started, now. Why had he fought for this, again? He _knew_ he couldn’t handle it. His body just reacted, against his will, and he had a perfect excuse to never be in this situation again if he just let Ned do it from now on.

But as painful as this was for him, the thought of _Ned_ in his place, this close to her, thinking these things -

That was undoubtedly worse. He couldn’t have that. 

He released her leg (along with the breath he had been holding) and stepped back from her, trying to force his thoughts far away from anything to do with Arya and her soft skin and her flushed cheeks and the fact that she was really, _really_ flexible -

He was going to the deepest of the seven hells, of that he was certain.

But he was sure that damn Ned Dayne, with all his easy smiles, would be right there with him.

Prick.

***

“It’s not all about size, you know. You have to be good with your hands, too.”

Gendry tried not to swallow his tongue, and turned to look at Arya with wide eyes. 

He wondered, not for the first time, if she had any idea what she was doing to him (and if it wasn’t just a little bit on purpose). 

She had her hands on her hips, and was looking at him matter-of-factly, after he had just tossed her and, once again, ‘not given her anything to stand on’. 

He sighed to himself. He supposed it really wasn’t her fault that his mind was determined to think the worst when she was around. 

“I’m serious. It’s great that you’re big. Really. It’s a huge help. But you have to - what?”

Oh no. She had broken off, and she was looking at him, full of innocence -

He cursed himself. His face must be betraying him. Why couldn’t he ever just keep his head on straight? He rubbed the back of his neck and hoped she would just forget about it. 

She didn’t seem to have time for his confused, inappropriate thoughts (Gendry thanked the Gods for small miracles such as this). She whirled back around, and reached for him. 

“Again. I need to _feel_ you.”

He tried to avoid all thoughts about how he was certain she _would_ , if they were to -

He wasn't very successful. He really needed to get himself together.

***

“You free tomorrow?”

Was she talking to him? He felt his mouth dry up. He wondered if he should say he _was_ busy, so he seemed like… he had a lot of other options, or something, or if he should just -

“Yeah, I, um… yes.”

As soon as he stumbled out his reply, he remembered that he was not, in fact, free tomorrow. He had a shift at Mikken’s, like he did every Monday - why was he such an idiot?

He groaned internally, wondering how he was supposed to change his response mere seconds after he had just given it to her.

“Great. I’m going to hit the gym, do some cardio. Come with me.”

He just looked at her. She - what?

“Sure.”

“Gods know you could use it,” she grinned at him. Her smile had an unfortunate habit of leaving his mind utterly blank. Oh no. He should not have agreed to this. He had to work. And he had assignments. He was not available to ‘do some cardio’ with Arya Stark tomorrow. Why didn’t his mouth comprehend this?

He was too muddled up to even try to come up with a witty response to her dig at his fitness levels. It’s not like he didn’t work out - he did, when he had the time. Which, honestly, was not too often these days. Didn’t coming to these Gods-forsaken practices count as a workout? He couldn’t deny that they often left him fairly exhausted.

Maybe that was exactly Arya’s point, actually. 

***

She caught sight of him as he entered the gym, waving him down and looking far, far better than any person had a right to in a public place like this. 

“Took your sweet time getting here, eh?”

He merely shrugged. It wasn’t the easiest to get a shift covered at such late notice, and he hadn’t gotten confirmation that it was all settled until merely moments ago. He’d gotten here as fast as he could, really. All things considered.

The fact that he rearranged his shifts at all, to go to the gym with Arya, when he clearly had other things that needed doing, seemed like a bit of a red flag to him.

Of what, he wasn’t entirely certain, but it could not mean anything good, that was for sure.

Seeing her in front of him, though, smiling and happy and wanting to spend more time with him than was necessary… he didn’t feel sorry about the choices he had made.

So. That had to mean he was doing something right… right?

They began by running on the treadmills, side by side (Gendry couldn’t help but notice that she kept looking over at his digital screen, and he was pretty sure she was competing with him - he didn’t even know what the rules were. He was just doing his own thing).

They grabbed some water - Arya was looking supremely pleased (and a little bit sweaty, and a little bit flushed - he tried not to notice, and failed, as always). She must have won the treadmill competition. Gendry was not shocked by this.

***

“So you obviously work out, yeah? What do you usually do?”

He looked at her in surprise. It had been a while, since he’d had time to hit the gym and just do what he wanted, but…

“I’ll show you.”

He still had his boxing gloves - they were always in his bag. No sense taking them out, really, when he typically would always use them whenever he was here.

He grabbed them, and brought her over to the punching bag. Her eyes lit up. Of course she would be excited for this - somehow this did not surprise him in the least. She could be quite feisty.

He pulled the gloves on, and got started with a few basic combos. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it, actually, and before he knew it he had lost himself in it, swinging and kicking. It was an extremely effective way to get frustrations out, actually, and he couldn’t help but imagine (if only for a few seconds) that the bag had Ned Dayne’s smiling face and perfect hair.

He paused to catch his breath, and couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at Arya. She seemed nearly as breathless as him, surprisingly. They had been done with their run for long enough, now, that he would have thought she’d have calmed down. 

No wonder she thought she needed to work on her cardio. 

She was eyeing his gloves, and he couldn’t be mistaking the desire he saw in her expression.

“You wanna have a go?”

She just blinked at him, and appeared as if she hadn’t heard.

“Sorry?”

Look at her. So excited about the prospect of trying it she couldn’t even listen. It was cute. He pulled his gloves off and handed them to her.

“Here. They’re probably way too big, but…”

Better than nothing. She thanked him, before pulling them on and looking at him blankly.

“So. I just, like, hit it?”

An unfamiliar feeling was winding its way through his chest - he had the uncomfortable thought that it was affection. It was nice, really, that she was in his territory for once. She didn’t always have to be the expert, with him confused and bumbling along. This he _did_ know. He couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at his lips, watching her standing in front of him in his gloves, eyes shining as she readied herself.

He gave her a few basic pointers, and then she went for it, with attack and enthusiasm like she did everything else. 

Gendry almost wished she didn't look so fucking good doing it.

Almost.

***

“Have you always done this?”

He still wasn’t used to it, not all the way, the way she would just casually ask him questions. People didn’t usually… ask him things. It could have something to do with the scowl he was always wearing.

It wasn’t the worst, to have somebody (okay, to have Arya) wanting to know about him.

“Since middle school, yeah.” He hesitated. _Fuck it_.

“I wanted to… hit things. Sometimes. So. This was a better option than others I could think of.” He determinedly avoided her gaze. He had made the snap decision to tell her that, and it was more than he needed to, and now that he had he wished he could take it back. Sure, she had asked, but she probably didn’t really want to _know_ , she wasn’t asking for some deep history of everything in his youth that made him the way he was now -

She surprised him, though, by letting out a chuckle.

“I want to hit things sometimes, too.”

At that, he did meet her eyes, and Gods, how was he ever supposed to look away? She was beautiful, and her eyes were like silver, but what struck him even more was that they were… kind. It wasn’t so bad, telling someone about his life, if it ended with him being looked at like that.

It was new. Strange, a bit. But… he liked it.

He couldn’t help but notice that the light feeling in his chest was stronger than it had been earlier. He wondered if it would stay. He hoped it would.

***

Gendry had given up on trying to deny his attraction to Arya, at this point. He had now spent months in her presence, and it didn’t seem like it was going to go away any time soon. He instead focused his efforts on keeping that attraction to himself, and hoping nobody noticed. He feared that even that wasn’t going as well as he might have hoped.

He just… he had to touch her a lot. It kind of came with the territory, what with the lifting and throwing and whatnot. And, really, those weren’t all that bad.

The catching, though… that was where he had the most problems.

If anything went wrong (which seemed to happen all too frequently), and she was falling, it all happened very fast. And he knew he had to grab her - it would just happen, instinctually, as her life seemed to flash before his eyes every single time, and he would just act, knowing he had to keep her safe, no matter what.

But.

It happened _fast_. He didn’t have time to think, all he could do was grab, and sometimes -

Sometimes he grabbed parts of her that he’s sure she’d never let him anywhere near in any other situation. It didn’t help his now nightly fantasies of her (or, well, it really _did_ ) to _know_ what she felt like beneath his hands. 

The first time it happened came after they attempted what Brienne had called a hand-in-hand. Arya was to hold herself inverted, grabbing his hands, and then he was to toss her before, supposedly, catching her feet above his head - Gods, the people who came up with these things must have had a death wish.

Arya didn’t seem nervous at all, though, and Gendry wasn’t about to be the one to back down.

So he’d tossed her, and she’d flipped, and he -

He froze, for a second, heart in his throat, before he remembered he was supposed to _catch_ her, otherwise where the hell was she supposed to go -

He ducked out of the way of her feet as they sailed past his head, and lunged instead for her torso, hoping he could at least slow her down before her legs crashed into the mat -

He did, and he held her tight to him, wondering if she could feel the hammering of his heart along her spine.

“You okay?” He felt like all of the air was sucked out of his lungs. She seemed completely unfazed.

“Gendry. You can let go of my tit.”

His stomach lurched, and he retracted his hands as fast as he could. He could feel the heat start to creep up his neck, and he desperately tried to think of something to say. Something funny, maybe, to keep things from getting awkward. Or. Just. Anything, really.

Anything at all, would be fine, at this point, just _something -_

“Gods, relax. I don’t care where you grab me.” 

Gendry just blinked at her, and hoped that his mouth was closed.

(Mostly, he prayed his thoughts didn’t show on his face, while scenarios flashed through his mind before he could stop them. Scenarios involving much less clothing, and Arya beneath him, breathless for once, saying she didn’t care where he touched her, or what he did, he could do whatever he bloody well wanted -)

He wondered if he could force his blood to rush back North with just sheer power of will. So far, it was looking like the answer was no.

“Just don’t drop me.” She said it like a challenge, and he didn’t want to stop to think why that left him wanting her even more.

She would be the death of him.

Gendry didn’t trust himself to speak, and merely nodded at her. He could do that. He hoped.

He could have sworn, though, thinking about it later, that despite all her bravado, she had a flush on her cheeks, and down her neck, and he knew it was ridiculous but he still let himself think that _maybe -_

Maybe that was a result of his hands on her.

And _that_ \- that _really_ didn’t help with his nightly problem.

(Or - it really, _really_ did).

***

The knock on his dorm room door startled him. He wasn’t used to having visitors… well, ever. Sighing, he set down his textbook and shuffled over to deal with whoever was disturbing him. He could already feel the scowl that had formed on his face - he made no effort to soften it.

Grumbling to himself, he pulled the door open.

“What?”

Regret flooded him immediately, as standing before him was… Arya. Was she lost?

“You always answer the door like that, or is this a special occasion?”

She looked amused rather than offended by his gruff tone, but he couldn’t help but feel a prickle of shame course through him at his mannerisms. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to try to be a little bit less abrasive. 

He struggled to think of a response, and merely shrugged. He was busy trying to school his features into a neutral expression - he was sure his surprise at seeing her was apparent.

“Hot Pie’s come to our room, to visit Maggie. I figured I’d best make myself scarce.” 

Gendry hadn’t realized Maggie and Arya shared a dorm. He wouldn’t have expected Arya to live in the dorms at all, what with her extreme wealth and powerful family and all that. He was equally shocked that Hot Pie was spending alone time with Maggie, after all. _Had_ that been why he joined the team, then? He frowned in confusion.

“Are you going to invite me in, or…?”

He swallowed. She wanted to come _in_? To his dorm? It was just… it was a pretty small space. There wasn’t much room for her, really. Although, as far as humans go, she was definitely on the small side -

He tried to focus, and cleared his throat.

“Sure, yeah, you can, uh… sure.” He winced slightly at the fact that he still managed to bumble over his response, and that despite his valiant throat-clearing efforts his voice still sounded a bit hoarse. 

Arya beamed at him, and then she was pushing past him. He could see her inspecting the small area, and he nearly swallowed his tongue when she sat herself down on his bed. This was not a visual that he needed - his imagination was more than enough, seeing this in person was really not necessary whatsoever -

“Thanks. I figured, we’re in this together, you know?” 

Gendry merely nodded. He realized he was still standing, awkwardly, by the front door. Hastily, he made his way back to his small, cramped desk, where his assignment was still sitting. He could pretty much feel it glaring up at him reproachfully. He shouldn’t ignore it, really, it was a huge portion of his grade… but, then again, Arya Stark was _here_ , in his dorm room, sitting on his bed -

Before he knew it, though, she was shrugging her bag off of her shoulder, and pulling out a laptop of her own.

“I knew a little bookworm like you would probably have work to do, so. Don’t worry about me, I brought my own entertainment!” 

Gendry really needed her to stop smiling at him like that. It was giving him all sorts of ideas, the wrong kind of ideas, and making it nearly impossible for him to form any words and carry on any semblance of a conversation with her. 

“Sure, yeah. Just… go ahead.” Nice. That wasn’t the worst sentence he’d uttered in her presence. Probably the best one of the day, really. His chest lightened a little bit. He could do this. He could handle Arya Stark, strolling into his dorm like it was no big deal, hanging out on his bed, with just the two of them, and the door closed -

He cut that thought short as soon as it entered his brain. She was just here as a place to go to give her roommate some privacy. It was completely inappropriate of him to have these thoughts about her. If she knew, it would undoubtedly make her uncomfortable. He winced at the thought of the way she would look at him if she knew all of the terrible things that were always going through his head.

He’d just have to focus on his studies, and the books in front of him, and it would be like she wasn’t even there.

But then -

She wasn’t getting set up on his bed at all, she was sliding down onto the floor. Okay. Well, that was fine. Great, actually. The floor was an infinitely better option -

Except now she appeared to be stretching. Simultaneously. Could she not do that some other time?

Her laptop was in front of her, and her legs were played out, and Gods, _why_ would that be the way she wanted to sit right now?

He really had a phenomenal view of her ass, though. He wished he didn’t notice. 

Gendry took a deep breath, and just prayed Hot Pie would be home soon.

This felt like a very precarious situation for him to be in.


	5. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I messed up and forgot I made my chapters months. The first scene is a continuation of their night in the dorms together, so it is still in November. After that we have our December chapter! Hooray!

By half past nine, Gendry had finished his assignment. He let out a contented sigh, relieved to have been able to focus for long enough to slog through it, despite the very obvious distraction that had been presented in front of him. He was finally done, and now he was free to -

Shit. _Now_ what was he supposed to do? He felt seized by a sudden panic, and pulled his book back towards him. Might as well just… get a head start on next week’s assignment, then. He didn’t know _what_ he was supposed to do with Arya here if he wasn’t studying. He couldn’t sit there idly, just… looking at her. She was still working, anyway. No, this was definitely his best (only) option.

He sighed again, and couldn’t help but notice that this time it sounded quite a bit more aggrieved. Arya glanced up at him with an eyebrow raised - he quickly squinted down at the text in front of him, and tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed her eyes on him.

He cursed Hot Pie for being gone this long. It’s not like he didn’t understand that a new relationship _thing_ could be exciting, but honestly. It had been _hours._

He cursed Arya for coming here in the first place, giving him all these terrible ideas and sitting in front of him in numerous obscene ways surely designed to torture him.

Mostly, he cursed himself for being presented with this opportunity and being far too terrified to do anything about it. Who knew when he would ever get a chance like this again? Alone with Arya, in his _room_ , no less, where she herself had willingly shown up -

It was never gonna happen. He was completely hopeless. He resisted the urge to sigh for a third time.

***

It was almost midnight when Hot Pie finally returned. Arya seemed relieved, and Gendry couldn’t really blame her. He himself had been starting to doubt if Hot Pie would return tonight at all - and what a mess _that_ would be.

Arya shot up, as if she hadn’t just spent hours on the floor all bent up in ridiculous ways, and gave Hot Pie a blinding smile.

“The stallion has returned! Finally! Honestly, I’m impressed. Fine work.” She clapped him on the shoulder, before bolting out of the room. 

Gendry couldn’t stop the sinking feeling of disappointment in his gut when he watched her leave - even though the entire time she was there was excruciating. What in seven hells was wrong with him?

Hot Pie appeared to be extremely content (even by his standards). Gendry raised his eyebrows at him as he collapsed onto his bed, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“So? How’d it go?”

“Amazing,” Hot Pie breathed out. “She showed me so many incredible routines. The talent out there in the world is just _crazy_. She really knows her stuff!”

... What? Gendry tried to comprehend what Hot Pie was saying to him.

“She… pardon?” He frowned. Thinking on it for a few seconds had not given him any additional insight.

“Well she invited me over, right, so we could watch cheer routines from all across the world. It was just amazing. I don’t know where the time went!”

Gendry blinked at him. So the whole time he had been at Maggie’s…They’d been watching cheerleading? That whole time? Really? He couldn’t wait to tell Arya, she would -

He cut that thought short as soon as it came up. This wasn’t about Arya. He tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

“That’s… that’s great. I’m glad you had fun.”

Hot Pie sighed happily, yet again, before launching into elaborate descriptions of teams and skills and who knows what else that Gendry had never heard of. He promptly tuned him out.

He realized, belatedly, that Hot Pie and Maggie likely hadn’t needed any privacy after all, and Arya could, actually, have spent the evening with them.

He’d be sure to leave that observation out when he told her about this development.

***

“Did you talk to Maggie? Hot Pie says they just… watched cheerleading the whole night. That can’t be right, can it?”

Arya let out a sound that was somewhere between a snigger and a groan - Gendry figured it probably shouldn’t have been so attractive, but somehow it was.

“Gods, they are such a mess. I don’t know what they’re doing. He _does_ like her, right?”

Frowning, Gendry looked over at Hot Pie, where he was standing beside Maggie, smiling and swatting at her ponytail.

“Yes. Um, I think so. Yes.” Just maybe not as much as he liked cheerleading? Gendry didn’t know, really. Hot Pie was a strange duck.

Arya just blinked at him. 

“I don’t know what his issue is, really. She’s giving out all kinds of signs.” He shrugged. Gendry didn’t consider himself the most observant, but even he figured that Maggie wasn’t hanging around Hot Pie all the time and inviting him over at night _just_ because they both seemed to like cheerleading. Everybody here (himself excluded, of course) liked cheerleading. And she had singled out Hot Pie to spend extra time with. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“What kind of signs?” Arya was inspecting him. Did she really not see what he had seen? Was she even more oblivious than him?

“Well. She asks him to do things, you know, outside of practice. Just the two of them.” A flash of discomfort ran through him when he remembered Arya, asking him to go to the gym. Outside of practice. Just the two of them. That was different, though. Arya was looking at him like she expected him to go on, though, so he did.

“And. You know, she wanted to hang out in the dorms. Alone.” He remembered Arya showing up at _his_ dorm, and studying with him, _alone_ \- fuck. He’d done it again. Was she noticing this? She was frowning. He hoped she didn’t think he was insinuating that _she_ was interested in _him_ \- he obviously knew that was not the case.

“Noticed all that, did you?” She definitely did not look happy right now. Gendry’s brain felt scrambled as he tried to think of what to say. He had pissed her off, probably, with his examples. They were too similar to Arya’s own actions. Or maybe she was grumpy that Gendry had noticed more than she had. She was always getting competitive over random things.

“Why do you think he doesn’t make a move, then, if she’s giving all these signals?” She was chewing on her lip, now. Gendry did manage to sense, through his panicked haze, that she didn’t look that _mad_ , really. More… put-out. He wished he could fix whatever he had inadvertently done to make her upset. He watched her continue to worry at her full bottom lip, and couldn’t help but wish it was his teeth that were sinking into it instead -

He pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. What had she asked, again? Why Hot Pie wouldn’t make a move? How the fuck was Gendry supposed to know that? He did his best to guess.

“Maybe he… I don’t know. Maybe he wants to just… get to know her? First? Do things proper?” He framed it as an extremely awkward question, and couldn’t help but rub the back of his neck sheepishly. How did he end up in this situation? He had figured him and Arya would just laugh at how Hot Pie and Maggie’s night had _actually_ gone, and that would be that.

“Yeah?” Despite his trepidation, it appeared he had said something a little bit right, at least. She was looking at him with hope, now, even if her stare was a bit intense for the topic at hand. Her eyes were really searching his, actually, and he swallowed nervously, vaguely wondering how he was supposed to form words when she was looking at him like that.

He decided not to even try, and just nodded.

And then all of a sudden she was grinning and rolling her eyes, before letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine.”

That seemed to be the end of that, and Gendry was relieved to have gotten out of that sticky situation mostly unscathed. He let out a breath he had been holding, and they got to work on their stunts.

It wasn’t until he was walking back to the dorms, replaying the conversation in his head (something he had a tendency to do an embarrassing amount), that he realized her responses hadn’t really made all that much sense. Huh.

Women.

***

“Don’t you just love Christmas time?” Hot Pie took a break from his incessant humming of ‘All I want for Christmas’ to ask Gendry. He did not take a break from his industrious hanging of colourful lights and misshapen (and clearly home-made) paper snowflakes all across their dorm. Gendry bit back his negative response, and went back to his textbook. Best just to keep quiet, on this one. Personally, no, he did not love Christmas time. First of all, it meant that finals were upon them, and he was running on very little sleep. Secondly, it confused him to no end that people were always scrambling around like chickens with their heads cut off, seemingly on the verge of a mental breakdown, and managing to tell themselves that it was a celebration. The whole thing was a hell of a lot more trouble than it was worth. And finally -

People loved to ask perfect strangers about their holiday plans. He had absolutely no interest in being questioned on where he would be going, or who he would be seeing - he would be going nowhere, and seeing no one, and that was how he liked it. Unfortunately, this was _always_ met with a pitying look that left him with his jaw clenched and his gaze hard. It was just a day like any other, and he didn’t need people to feel sorry for him for treating it that way. 

So no, you could say that he did _not_ love Christmas time.

Hot Pie, used to Gendry’s grumpy silences, carried on.

“I can’t _wait_ for the team party. It’s so awesome that Ned has his own place!”

Gendry scowled even more at this. Of course perfect, chipper Ned Dayne would host a Christmas party for the team. Of _course_ he would have an entire house to himself. Must be nice to grow up as the son of pretty much the Godsdamn _Lord_ of bloody Starfall -

He shook his head to himself. This line of thinking was doing nothing to help with his irritation.

Hot Pie was as unaffected as ever.

“I think I’ll try to find Maggie under the mistletoe… it’s the perfect time!”

Ned would probably use this party as a chance to humbly brag about his living arrangements and show off his impeccable hosting abilities and how disgustingly nice he is -

Wait what?

At that, Hot Pie did manage to get a different reaction out of Gendry, as he looked up at him in surprise.

“So you - you do like Maggie then?” That was good. Gendry had been a bit worried (just a bit) after he had reassured Arya of Hot Pie’s feelings for her friend based on… well, really not a lot. There was a high probability that he could have been very wrong with his random guesses.

Hot Pie looked at Gendry in confusion.

“Of course I do. You know this. That’s why I even wanted to join the team in the first place.” Hot Pie shook his head at Gendry in slight exasperation.

Okay, whatever. Gendry had no idea what went on in Hot Pie’s brain. He knew he _said_ that he wanted to join the team for Maggie, but he clearly really actually enjoyed it whether she was on it or not -

Gendry opened his mouth to try to get clarification, before promptly realizing what a lost cause that was. He merely sighed and went back to his book.

It didn’t matter, really. What was important was that Hot Pie _was_ into Maggie. Good. One less thing for him to worry about. He wished them the best at Ned’s party, and hoped they’d find a nice secluded corner with some mistletoe and -

Of course Ned would have mistletoe at his party. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to pounce on Arya, just like Hot Pie was planning with Maggie - he was such a prat.

Gendry felt the sudden urge to throw his textbook across the room.

“I’m not going to the party, Hot Pie.” He focused on breathing evenly through his nostrils, trying to calm the waves of anger that were coursing through him, stronger than ever as he pictured Ned, smiling at Arya with perfectly straight white teeth, while he -

Gendry slammed his textbook shut. Hot Pie looked bewildered - Gendry wasn’t sure what was so shocking. Him not wanting to attend a party wasn’t exactly out of character. 

Gendry hated parties. And Christmas. And Ned Dayne. So. That was literally the whole package.

Abruptly, he stood up out of his chair, jammed his feet into his boots and stormed out, all the way to the courtyard. Gendry took a deep breath, and inhaled the crisp, frosty air. He should have grabbed a jacket, but he was a fucking moron - what else was new? He’d have to make this walk quick. Just a few minutes, until he cooled off and cleared his head and could act like a rational human being. The crunch of snow beneath his boots _was_ soothing, even if he was freezing his fucking balls off. At least it gave him something else to think about. He should apologize to Hot Pie later. It’s not like he was a stranger to Gendry’s moods, but still. He really hadn’t done much to warrant that much of a reaction. He felt like a prick. It certainly wasn’t Hot Pie’s fault that Ned would surely swoop in and steal his girl at this cursed party -

Not that Arya was his girl. Not properly. He let out a resigned sigh. 

He didn’t exactly feel much better, but he couldn’t very well keep standing out here. The North was a Godsdamned menace.

***

Arya: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Gendry: [...]

Gendry: 

Gendry: [...]

Gendry: ?

Arya: Oh sorry

Arya: I just pictured you trying to interact with ppl at a party

Arya: HAHAHAHA

Arya: I can’t fucking wait to see this you have no idea

Arya: Oh my Gods Friday can’t come soon enough

Gendry felt frozen looking down at his phone. Arya had made sure to get his number during the Hot Pie/Maggie dorm room incident, in case it happened again so she could let him know before she dropped by. And he had given it to her, obviously. 

But they hadn’t ever texted before. This seemed like an odd way to start. His brow creased as he contemplated how to tell her that he wasn’t going. Because he hated Christmas, and parties, and Ned Dayne -

Gendry: See you there.

Well, fuck. He wondered how he still managed to blurt things out via _text message_ , when he had the opportunity to take his time to respond, and think it through before he hit send. What in seven hells was wrong with him?

He didn’t know, really. All he knew was that Arya Stark was looking forward to seeing him. At the party. That couldn’t very well happen if he stayed at home, could it? Gods, he needed help.

Arya: hahahahahahaha you text like an old man

Gendry: I don’t even know what that means.

Arya: exactly

Well he definitely didn't know how to respond to _that_. He was still processing how he had somehow gotten himself roped into attending this party that he had just thrown a fit about the night before.

How in seven hells was he supposed to explain this to Hot Pie?

***

It turned out he didn’t have to. 

Gendry had begun his mumbled confession that he _would_ be attending, after all, and suddenly Hot Pie was hooting with laughter, and clapping him on the shoulder, and declaring him completely whipped.

He considered arguing, but -

As he agonized over which of his nearly identical shirts to wear, he couldn’t exactly disagree.

***

Ned Dayne’s house was fucking massive. Of course. Walking up the driveway, hearing some thudding music coming from inside, where he could already see that the place was packed full of people - Gendry almost gave in to the urge to turn around and just skip the whole thing entirely.

Almost.

But the thought of Arya, wanting him to come (and, though he tried to ignore it, the thought of Ned and his cursed mistletoe) kept him trudging forward.

She found him as soon as they crossed the threshold - how did she do that? 

She looked beautiful. She always did, but this seemed different. She had braided her hair, and some pieces were falling into her face, and he was pretty sure she had lipstick on. His throat felt very dry, as she beamed at him and grabbed his arm.

Maybe parties weren’t the _worst_. Not always, anyway. 

***

As much as Arya had mocked his ability to handle himself at a party, and touted her anticipation at getting to see him make a fool of himself firsthand, she really didn’t give him much of a chance. 

She rarely left his side at all. Gendry’s pretty sure he didn’t speak to a single other team member the entire night.

That suited him just fine.

***

“No tell me, come on!” He urged her, and she burst out laughing. It was a bit of a drunk laugh, he could tell, and it was so unhindered and unapologetic - he wanted to hear her laugh all the time. She snorted a bit, too. He wondered why he found that so attractive.

“Oh my Gods, it’s so dumb though!”

Gendry didn’t care. He wanted to know. And her eyes were shining, and she was still laughing a bit, like…

Like she did want to tell him, after all.

She just wanted him to work for it, a little.

He could do that.

And maybe it was the few beers that he had had, or the pleasant warmth he felt sitting there on the couch beside her, or the fact that he actually felt comfortable tonight, somehow -

He didn’t know, really, what possessed him to make his next move, but before he knew it he was looking into her eyes, doing his very best impression of a sad, pleading puppy.

“Please?”

And then she wasn’t laughing anymore, but her eyes were still sparkling, and her cheeks had a lovely flush to them. She bit on her bottom lip, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to it. _He_ wanted to bite on her lip. She might let him, too, it was Christmas, after all, and she had sat them down here, huddled together -

“Okay, fine. I thought… you just wanted to meet girls. You know?”

What had they been talking about?

He frowned. Oh, right. Why she had despised him so completely when he first joined the team. 

Arya may have sensed his confusion, because she carried on in a rush.

“Look, it happens all the time. Guys think they can just walk in, and there’ll be all these girls, and they’ll be easy lays, and it’s just - it’s a huge piss off, okay?”

He nodded. Okay. Sure. 

“Anyway, I was complaining to Maggie about what an _ass_ you are, only joining the team to fulfill your _needs_ \- Gods, it was actually humiliating, she was so pissed at me, saying I was a huge snob and she didn’t think I’d be so judgmental -”

Good old Maggie. He’d have to tell Hot Pie that he fully supports this match. He always knew he liked her. 

Arya let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Finally, I clued in that what I thought was not what I thought. That I thought. You know?”

He snorted. He couldn’t help it. She really was fucking cute, and he was a little confused, but she looked a little confused too, and really he just wanted to kiss her -

But wait.

“Why in hells did you think that?” Because, really, he didn’t even _talk_ to anyone, he certainly didn’t show up to practice like Casanova ready to charm an entire team full of ladies who pretty much terrified him.

Arya just blinked at him, and kept looking at him, contentedly (if not still, a bit, confused). Eventually he clued in that she did not have any intention of responding, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Oh - I’m sorry. That was a real question?”

Now he was definitely the one confused. What? Yes, it was a real question, that was why he had asked -

“Don’t worry about it. I’d have figured out the truth soon enough, though, even if she didn’t tell me.”

Arya seemed full of confidence now, and was swelling with pride at this fact. He couldn’t help but scoff. She hadn’t seemed like she had really been on that path, to him.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“Because,” She leaned close to him, and she smelled sweet, a little, like whatever fruity cocktail in a can she’d been consuming. He blinked at her, and his heart was racing.

“You’re completely _shit_ with girls.”

And then she was cackling, and had flopped back onto the couch, out of his personal space enough that he could breathe again.

“I am not _shit_ with girls.” He couldn’t help but grumble out. He actually really _was_ , but somehow he didn’t feel like he wanted Arya to think that. She was still laughing, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to actually be that mad about it. Or at all mad about it.

Not when she was smiling so much, talking to him. Not when her grey eyes were dancing and she was sitting so close to him. 

“Okay. Prove it, then. Woo me.” She was teasing him, surely. She definitely was, she was smirking at him, and her eyebrow was raised just a little, and -

His mouth was a bit dry. She was definitely teasing, and she didn’t mean it, that was obvious, but -

Fuck it.

Maybe she was serious. He’d better give it his best shot, just in case, right?

Right. He took a deep breath. He certainly wasn’t the best with words, so there was no use starting there.

He leaned over her, and wound his hand around the back of her neck, as gently as he could. His fingers ghosted up, just slightly, until he could feel her soft silky hair beneath his fingertips. Did her breath hitch, or did he imagine that? He was very close to her, now, actually, and her eyes didn’t seem to be laughing at him anymore. He hoped he didn’t look quite as terrified as he felt. His heart hammered in his chest, and his eyes flickered down to her lips again.

He could kiss her.

Right now, and she might even let him, she didn’t seem to be pulling away -

CRASH.

Gendry’s pretty sure he jumped a foot in the air, as he was startled out of the moment by what appeared to be a lamp being knocked off of an end table.

And it was caused by -

Was that… Ned? And Lommy?

They were wrapped in what could only be described as an intimate embrace, seemingly with no sense of the people or objects around them, and -

He frowned.

He had thought Ned liked Arya. He was always smiling at her, and…

If he stopped to think about it, though, Ned really… smiled at everyone. All the time. So. Maybe Gendry had been… a little off-base, on this one. His thoughts flashed to all of his aggressive thoughts about Ned over the past few weeks, and he winced a bit internally. Perhaps Ned wasn’t, actually, the worst bloke to walk the earth. The _main_ problem (well, only problem, really) had been that he liked Arya, which... yeah. That seemed to be resolved.

Bewildered, he looked over at Arya, who was still leaning back on the couch, grinning at the happy couple in amusement. She didn’t really look surprised. She caught his eye, and he was reminded of just what had been going on before they were interrupted.

What was he supposed to do now? She was just sitting there.

And he was just sitting there.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, and muttered something about taking a piss, before fleeing the scene. Fuck.

He was _shit_ with girls.

***

Despite the fact that he had absolutely butchered their moment on the couch, Gendry couldn’t bring himself to be too upset with how the night had gone, on the whole.

Not when he made his way back to the sofa, and she was still there waiting for him.

And they talked the whole night, and he found that if he wasn’t quite so worried about saying the wrong thing he managed to say the _right_ thing, sometimes, and she would laugh, and his chest would swell.

He couldn’t be upset when they walked back to the dorms together, warm despite the frigid chill of the air and the light snowfall that drifted down on them.

Not when they reached her door, and she looked up at him with her nose tinged slightly pink from the cold, smiling with sparkling eyes before pulling him into a hug.

It surprised him. She was so small, her arms wrapped around his midsection, and he froze for a second before remembering to move his arms. 

He liked holding her. She was soft and warm against him, and grinning at him to send her some old man texts over the break to give her a distraction from her madhouse of a family.

She didn’t seem concerned with the fact that he still didn’t know what old man texts were.

Gendry could have stayed there all night, he reckoned, but -

He actually really had to piss again. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away, and couldn’t stop the smile he shot down at her before making his way back to his own room.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t _that_ bad, either.

Not always.


	6. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially this story was going to follow them until March... But why not make it April??  
> Enjoy, have fun, please remember that I am the most fragile person to ever walk the planet, thank you! xox

January brought with it a new class schedule, some truly terrible weather, and, the more immediate problem -

A ‘showcase’. 

It appeared that he would be forced into yet another indignity - this one being a performance for ‘family and peers’. 

Well, Gendry had no family, and most of the peers he knew were twats. 

So. You could say he was unenthused. 

His issues with this damned performance only seemed to multiply the closer they got to it. Brienne, who was normally quite stoic, was becoming visibly more agitated at practices. Gendry had no doubt that she took her job extremely seriously. She was constantly barking out orders, and tugging at her short hair, and at one point he saw her actually physically fall to her knees in despair when a mistake was made - no one could doubt that she sure had a lot of passion.

It was exhausting.

He couldn’t count how many times they had done their routine ‘full out’ (a term which, finally, actually made sense to him). Start to finish, every skill, over and over. Gendry couldn’t believe how long two and a half minutes felt when it was full of lifting and throwing and tossing and running from spot to spot (he was apparently terrible at this. ‘Transitioning’, it was called. He was supposed to get himself all over the place while hardly moving any parts of his body, like he was some sort of robot, and without looking like he was in anything of a hurry. He didn’t deem it particularly practical, and would just focus on getting where he needed to be. It led to an innumerable number of groans and head shakes from Podrick). He was also supposed to be smiling the entire time. He had given up on that aspect as well. He couldn’t try to smile and think about where to go and what count the music was on all at the same time - it was too much. He was still new to this, really, and he was doing his damn best. Some parts were just… not his strengths. Even the parts that _were_ his strengths (the lifts and the tosses and all that) didn’t really feel that way by the end of these brutal practices. His shoulders ached (Podrick loved to remind him that this was a result of his lack of flexibility. He had never stretched so much in his fucking life, and it still wasn’t enough), and his lungs burned, and still they kept going, over and over. For weeks.

It was hell.

To add further insult to injury, as if running them ragged wasn’t enough...

Brienne had declared that during their last practice before this dreaded performance, they would have a dress rehearsal. Initially, he hadn’t been too concerned about that, really. At some point, he had been measured for a uniform, and he had received it, and he didn’t think anything would be too different when he had it on. The girls discussed their hair and Gods-know what else for a period of time that was entirely too long, during which he stared at the wall and tried to mentally prepare for his upcoming quiz.

In theory, he figured this whole dress rehearsal thing would be a lot more work and a whole lot more of a problem for the girls than it would for him. All he had to do was show up, really. Like any other practice.

He had made one regrettable oversight.

He hadn’t realized the effect of Arya Stark, fully done up and ready to go, in the tiniest cheerleading outfit he had ever seen. He was an idiot. He should have seen this coming. They _had_ spent forever discussing their makeup and their hair and their socks and their nails and everything else under the sun - so of course she would show up having applied all of those things.

And of course it would render him completely speechless, and wipe his mind utterly blank.

She’d even stuck extra eyelashes on _top_ of her own eyelashes, and applied some shimmery something that made the silver of her eyes even more alluring (he hadn’t known that to be possible, but, here they were). The whole effect was unbelievably distracting, making it almost impossible for him to tear his gaze away from her eyes.

 _Almost_.

He did manage, though, to fully appreciate her tiny, athletic waist, and her toned legs that seemed miles long underneath a skirt that he deemed entirely too short -

He gulped, and tried to calm his racing thoughts as she approached him. He could hardly concentrate on what she was saying. Why did she always do this to him?

She was looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry?”

She rolled her eyes at him, and chewed on her bottom lip - it had been painted a deep shade of red, making it even harder than usual for him to look away.

“I asked who you got coming tomorrow? … A girl, or…?”

Gendry blinked. Wait. He had seen this happen before, in the movies, and it meant she was -

He tried to snap himself back to reality. Life was not a movie. Arya Stark was _not_ interested in him. He cleared his thoughts as best he could. 

“Nope, ah, no girls. I don’t have any girls. To invite, I mean.” He berated himself internally. He wished he didn’t fumble over so many of his words. 

To his luck, Arya didn’t seem to notice. She may have even brightened at his words (unless he was imagining that, which was entirely possible). 

“Any family, then? Friends?” She was looking at him so eager, and so innocent. He wanted nothing more than to give her a happy, positive response -

“Um. None of that either.”

Okay, or that. She looked crestfallen, and he cursed himself. Why couldn’t he just say something normal? He couldn’t do anything about his lack of family, but he wished, for the first time, that he had some semblance of a social life. At the very least so that Arya wouldn’t look at him the way she was right now. 

Like he was something she felt sorry for. 

Well, there was nothing he could do to change it now. He frowned to himself, and threw all of his energy into getting through the rest of this blasted rehearsal without losing his head entirely, and doing something completely idiotic.

Like telling Arya how beautiful he found her, and how he didn’t care about inviting anyone to their performance because the only opinion he cared about was _hers_ , and she would already be there -

He sighed.

***

The next morning found Gendry… nervous. His stomach was twisted, and he felt the same way he did one summer when he drank two energy drinks within the space of an hour - like his heart was going a bit too fast, and his hands were far too restless.

He hadn’t anticipated this.

Hot Pie, at least, seemed to be in the same boat. He was blasting their routine music (it was honestly terrible, Gendry wasn’t sure who was responsible for this monstrosity but it absolutely hurt his ears) and practicing his dance over and over and over as if he didn’t already have it perfected.

Gendry had to get out of their shared dorm. He couldn’t watch Hot Pie or listen to this damned mix for one more second. It was just making him more nervous.

He wished he knew _why_. He didn’t even have anyone coming to this stupid thing, so what did it matter?

He thought of Arya, and -

He always thought of Arya. But he thought of how much this meant to her, and that she _did_ have people coming to watch, and if he dropped her she would absolutely kill him.

More importantly, she would be so disappointed. He couldn’t let that happen.

At least the source of his anxiety had been somewhat identified. Still didn’t help him resolve it in any way whatsoever, but hey.

***

His hands shook all through warm-up. He could hear people, milling about outside the gymnasium - he didn’t want them to come in.

Could they all just go home? Could _he_ go home, too?

Soon enough, the doors were opened, and people streamed in - 

Damn. They were really doing this.

***

He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t remember anything - where was he supposed to go at the start? And what was the order of moves in their stunt? What came first - the pyramid or the tosses?

His heart pounded.

He couldn’t do this. He didn’t know what was going on, he was going to fuck it all up -

“Hey.”

Arya’s voice was soft, and he looked at her with what he was sure were wild, wide eyes.

“You’ll be fine. We got this.”

She took his hand (he hoped she couldn’t tell how sweaty it was). He still didn’t say anything, but desperately kept looking at her, into her eyes, hoping it would help him absorb some of her never-ending confidence.

“Just breathe.”

Before he knew it he was nodding, and she was smiling at him, and she was so fucking beautiful -

He had to do this. And he wouldn’t fuck it up - he _couldn’t_. Not when she was standing here, looking at him like that. Like he could do anything, and she -

She trusted him.

He wouldn’t let her down. He nodded again, and she kept a hold of his hand for as long as she could before they had to part to hit their starting positions.

His heart had never pounded so loudly in his life. He wondered if he’d even be able to hear the music over it.

(He could.)

***

He registered, vaguely, that it was done. The music had stopped, everyone was clapping, his teammates were waving and running off the mat -

He hastily ran off as well, and desperately tried to recollect what had just happened.

It was like he blacked out. What an absurd experience this whole thing was, really.

He felt dazed.

And he wasn’t expecting that to change, until all of a sudden it did. Because Arya was there, and she was beaming, and leaping into his arms. Her legs were around his waist, and she was laughing into his ear that she always knew he could do it, he had no reason to be such a chicken -

Gendry was trying to listen, really, but most of his energy and focus was on where he was supposed to hold her as she clung to him. Her legs were like a vice around his midsection, but he still felt like he should put his arms somewhere.

He couldn’t put them on her ass _obviously_ (unfortunately).

But he couldn’t very well grab her legs, either, not when she was wearing a skirt that _short_ , and he would just be gripping her bare skin -

It didn’t matter, in the end, because before he could make his arms do anything other than freeze at his sides like he was some kind of statue, she was sliding back to the ground, and breathlessly exclaiming -

“Dad!”

What?

He was most definitely not her dad. He frowned down at her in confusion, only to see -

Oh. She was looking past him, over his shoulder, at…

Her dad. Must be. Logical. Gendry felt very aware of how close she still was to him, and how tightly her legs had just been wrapped around him, and how it had all apparently happened in front of her father.

He wondered if he would be able to slink away, unnoticed, and then just go ahead and pretend this had never happened.

No such luck. Why was he not surprised?

“Dad, this is Gendry. He’s my...”

Was she hesitating? He begged her, internally, to stop. Her eyes flickered to his, and she grinned wickedly.

“Base.”

Gendry let out a sigh of relief, and began nodding vigorously. Yes. That was the truth. He was her base. And nothing more, and _certainly_ nothing inappropriate.

Ned Stark was inspecting him. He had a bit of a frown - or maybe that was just his face? Gendry hoped so. The longer the inspection went on, though, without a word, the more concerned he started to get.

That maybe… he knew.

Was that some special gift that serious, powerful, important fathers had? That they could tell when bastard boys like him were after their daughters in the worst possible ways? He tried to school his features into innocence, and not let any lingering traces of the thoughts that had filled his brain for _months_ now show on his face.

Ned Stark would certainly have him arrested, or something, if he knew that Gendry pictured his daughter, on her knees in front of him -

Or, worse, imagined coming up behind her and slipping his fingers up that dangerously short skirt, teasing her until she moaned his name -

He gulped. The more he tried to keep his thoughts out of his head, the more determined they were to increase. The back of his neck felt absurdly hot. Why was nobody saying anything?

“Gendry…?” Her dad was looking at him expectantly.

Gendry blinked. Okay. That was good. Ned Stark had not (yet) threatened him with violence (physical or otherwise). That didn't mean Gendry had any clue of how he was supposed to keep this conversation going.

“Waters,” Arya supplied helpfully. Oh. His stomach dropped as he realized what must be going on here. Anybody worth anything had a last name worth mentioning. ‘Waters’ didn’t exactly make the list. He stared at the floor.

“You from these parts?”

Okay, that, at least, was a question that he recognized as such and therefore could answer. That had to be considered progress, despite the fact that none of this seemed particularly relevant to… anything.

He cleared his throat anxiously.

“Uh, me? No. Down South. King’s Landing.” This seemed to make Arya’s father frown even more. Well, so be it.

Gendry frowned right back. He couldn’t exactly help where he was born, could he?

“And your parents? Are they -” 

“Dad! Gods, what is wrong with you? Can you act normal for, like, five seconds?” Gendry couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief and endearment towards Arya as she rolled her eyes and tugged her father away, mouthing a quick ‘Sorry’ to him as she retreated.

Gendry sighed, and wondered when the fuck someone’s last name and who their parents were and where they were born became such a big damn deal.

Probably, he mused, a really, really long time ago, actually.

He snorted. Times may have changed, but in some ways, they really hadn’t at all.

He headed back to the dorms. He had an assignment to finish.

***

Sighing, Gendry threw his oil-covered rag over his shoulder and began the laborious task of trying to clean the grime off of his hands. He'd been in classes what felt like all day, and that was _before_ his long shift at Mikken’s. All he wanted to do now was fall into his bed and not move again until the morning. When he could wake up, and do the exact same thing all over again.

He couldn’t, though.

He still had lab work to do, and he was behind enough on his weekly readings as it was. He dragged his hands down his face (he hoped he had cleaned them thoroughly enough, otherwise he had likely just made even more of a mess) and wished for the energy and motivation to get everything done. 

He dug his phone out of his pocket, and his stomach lurched, as it always did, when he saw Arya’s name pop up. There was a little ‘6’ in brackets beside it. He eagerly opened it, and his heart stopped beating entirely.

Arya: brooo you’re getting so grabby

Arya: [img_200126]

Gendry registered, briefly, that there were more messages below - he couldn’t focus on that though. Not when there was a photo, right in front of his face -

His mouth felt very dry. He hoped his heart would start beating again soon. He was too young to die.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from the image in front of him. It was definitely Arya, and she definitely was not wearing enough clothes to be taking pictures and sending them to him. Her body was angled slightly, and she had a pair of soft-looking shorts hanging low on her hips. That was fine. He could handle that. But her top half -

He took in her toned stomach, and the subtle dip of her waist, before he reached her chest -

The worst (best) part of it all was how little she was leaving to his imagination. He wasn’t sure what went through girls’ minds (obviously) but he thought it would not have been too difficult to send this same photo while she had _some_ form of bra on. Even one of her stupid little sports bras, that always definitely seemed too small, would be better than what was currently happening. Her entire top half was bare, with just her one arm reaching lazily across her tits to ‘hide’ them from view. It certainly wasn’t doing a very effective job. He couldn’t stop his blood from rushing south as he took in the slope of the undersides of her breasts, and how pert and perky they were, and how perfectly they would fit in his hands. 

His heart and brain both restarted in an instant, and he wondered just what in seven hells she was doing, sending him photos like this -

He remembered she had sent a message, something about him being grabby -

Oh no.

Oh, that made everything so much worse (better).

Because if he looked closer (he _had_ to look closer, to see what she was talking about. He wasn’t being a creep about it), he could see the undeniable marks all across her skin, from her hip bone to just below her breasts.

They were bruises. From his hands, of that he was certain. He exhaled slowly through his nose and tried to get a grip on himself.

He wondered how he could simultaneously feel terrible about this, while also feeling… decidedly _not_ bad. Not at all. His cock was definitely not on the same page as his conscience as he felt himself harden, thinking of gripping her tightly, on _purpose_ , because she wanted him to, and leaving his marks on her so everyone would know she belonged to _him_ -

He desperately tried to rid himself of those thoughts. He shouldn’t be feeling proud of this, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be _aroused_ \- he had bruised her. Hurt her, probably. 

(He couldn’t stop the feelings swirling through him, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t help but curse this picture. She _had_ to send it to him like this, didn’t she? Half naked and perfect, with his marks all over her, and she was expecting him to _not_ feel some kind of way about it? _Women._ )

He hadn’t the faintest clue how to respond.

He hoped the following messages she had sent would assist him in some way, because he couldn’t think of anything at all appropriate to say in a situation like this.

Arya: ok don’t make it weird, you know it’s fine, it’s bound to happen when you catch me

Arya: I’m just teasing

Arya: hello grandpa are you there

Arya: did you forget that you even own a cell phone and are expecting all communications to come to you via carrier pigeon

He choked out a laugh at the string of texts following. Okay.

She wasn’t mad, at least. He didn’t think. So. That was good. And it _was_ bound to happen. He had to grab her tight when he caught her, and they’d been adding some difficulty to their stunt, and she came down a few times, and… 

He hadn’t had a choice, really. Surely a few bruises were better than her crashing into the ground. And she was tough, besides. She hadn’t seemed at all uncomfortable during practice when she had undoubtedly been getting said bruises.

He took a deep breath, and glanced at the time stamps. He realized with a frown that the first message, and the photo, had been sent almost six hours ago, while the following slew of messages that got more and more absurd had come in a lot more recently. 

He figured she’d waited long enough for a response, and decided to just go with whatever came to mind first rather than agonize for the remainder of the evening over what he could possibly say. Sometimes he lived on the edge, like this.

Gendry: hey

Gendry: sorry

Gendry: been working

He stopped abruptly. Okay. That pretty much covered everything, right? It explained why he took so long to answer, at least, while avoiding any mention of the photo and the absurdly inappropriate effect it had on him. 

Arya: that whole time?!?!?!?! 

Gendry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Arya was a wonderful, down to earth person (truly), but sometimes… it was obvious that she had grown up with a wealth that he would never understand. It was especially blatant when she made comments like this, shocked that he had been working for an entire eight hours. 

Arya: poor boy

Arya: you hungry?

He squinted at his phone, trying to determine if she was mocking him or not. The safe bet was _yes_ , but… 

His stomach grumbled, and he glared down at it. Traitor.

Gendry: always

Arya: I will be at your door in 30 mins

Arya: so don’t open it all grouchy

He chuckled, and warmth spread through him. It was just that _one_ time he had opened the door like that, would he ever live it down?

Gendry: as m’lady commands

He couldn’t stop the smile that was breaking across his face as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and hurriedly prepared to leave. He must look like a lunatic, grinning to himself. 

He made it back to the dorms in record time, and had the fastest shower of his life before rushing back to his room and setting up his assignments, trying (and failing) to look casual and nonchalant.

Hot Pie just looked over at him with a bored, “What’s with you?”

Gendry did not respond.

But when Arya knocked on his door five minutes later, with a bag of takeout that smelled mouth-watering, precariously balanced on top of her laptop and books -

Hot Pie shot him a look that made it abundantly clear that he knew what was 'with him’.

Gendry ignored that too.

***

He would like to be able to say that, as he spent more time with Arya, and he came to truly consider her a friend, he refrained from... thinking about her. In a certain way. When he was alone.

That was, unfortunately, not the case at all.

Now he just felt even more guilt in the moments following his release. The fantasies seemed to only increase in frequency and detail after the damned dress rehearsal and performance. It was as if, now that he had seen Arya in her little uniform, he could picture nothing else. He really didn’t appreciate how stereotypical and ‘high school’ this made him feel. But how was it his fault? He was pretty sure nobody had ever looked that good in _anything_ before.

As if that wasn't enough, she'd had to send that damn picture, too - he felt like he now had _far_ too clear of an idea of exactly what her tits looked like.

All these images were burned into his brain, as his imagination played out teenage fantasy after teenage fantasy that he would have sworn, before this, that he didn’t even have. 

Every time he took himself in his hand, he saw her - sometimes she would straddle him, and whisper what she’d like to have him to do to her (of which he was, of course, only too happy to oblige). Other times, she was a little more shy, and he would take control, driving into her as she raked her nails down his back, not letting up until she was gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Other times still, she would tell him he could look, but not touch, as she spread herself open for him and brought herself over the edge and he desperately tried to keep a handle on himself for as long as he could.

Still. It was better this way. No matter how guilty he felt about it - he had to release his tensions _somehow_. Surely this was preferable to him just… pouncing on her the next time they found themselves alone.

Right?


	7. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The team hits the road for an out-of-town competition. Featuring a bus ride, a hotel stay, and unparalleled amounts of thirst!  
> *reminder that this is the slowest of the slow burns. Crockpot slow burn, if you will*  
> Have fun xox

“Next week, we’re headed down to White Harbour for Regionals. Now, I know I don’t need to explain to you guys how important this is.”

Gendry looked about him surreptitiously, to find the rest of his teammates nodding intently.

Damn.

He, for one, wouldn’t have minded an explanation as to why this was such a big damn deal. Instead, he just nodded equally as intently.

Fake it ‘til you make it, as they say.

***

He ended up getting one, after all. Hot Pie went into great detail during their walk back to the dorms. He ‘could tell Gendry was lost’, apparently. Gendry sighed, but couldn’t really complain. At least he was enlightened about their situation now.

They would take a team bus down to White Harbour at the ass crack of dawn on Saturday morning, to arrive in the early afternoon. They would perform that evening (“College divisions are always last. Gotta close out the show with some excitement!”), stay the night, and then get back on the bus at the ass crack of dawn _again_ the next day.

They were competing against other local teams; but, more importantly, they needed to perform well in order to qualify for Nationals in King’s Landing next month. 

Hot Pie helpfully informed him that Winterfell had never _not_ qualified for Nationals. Great. No pressure, or anything.

After that helpful breakdown, his stomach fluttered uncomfortably at every mention of Regionals. He couldn’t wait to just have it be over and done with.

***

He took that back. Gendry wished he hadn’t prayed so hard for Regionals to be over, because inevitably that meant that it arrived far too quickly. He had a terrible night’s sleep before they left, with a mash-up of stressful dreams involving sleeping in, missing the bus, forgetting his whole routine, dropping Arya straight to the floor -

Eventually he gave up on sleep entirely, and merely lay in the dark, waiting for his alarm to go off, while his stomach writhed and his heart raced. 

Their room seemed terribly quiet. He noticed that Hot Pie, typically a fairly boisterous snorer, was completely silent.

He had a suspicion that he wasn’t the only one having trouble finding sleep.

***

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he grunted at her.

Arya followed him as he lumbered down the aisle of the bus, before he threw himself into a seat near the back. 

“I mean it. You should have a nap or something.” Gendry frowned at her in confusion as she settled into the seat beside him. He hadn’t expected her to willingly spend more time with him than necessary, especially given his grumpy, sleep-deprived state. She had a point, though. It’s not like he was any less anxious than before, but he was certain that running on no sleep wasn’t exactly going to help matters.

Sighing, he nodded, before closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Wow.” He cracked one eye open and glared at her as best he could.

“I’ve never seen anybody look so uncomfortable. Is that actually how you sleep?”

He shot her a dark look. He considered shifting a bit - she was right (of course); he wasn’t exactly comfortable. But there weren’t really many other options when trying to sleep upright on a bus. He couldn’t afford to be picky right now. He resolutely scrunched his eyes shut.

“Gods, I can’t watch this. Here.” Reluctantly, he found himself cracking an eye open yet again - to find Arya shoving a pillow towards him. His lips parted, and he didn’t know what he was planning on saying. But Arya was giving him a soft look, despite him being a grumbling prick, and -

She was being nice, really. There was no reason not to just take it. 

“Fine,” he muttered, before grabbing it. She just rolled her eyes and shook her head a bit, before getting properly settled in beside him. He could have sworn she was trying not to smile.

She might be crazy, after all. 

He gave her one final glance, before propping her peace offering up against the window, and leaning into it. It smelled like her. The thought somehow both made his heart speed up and calmed him at the same time, and he inhaled deeply, trying to relax enough to get some much-needed rest.

He hoped she couldn’t tell that she was sniffing his pillow like some stalker. She’d never let him live it down.

***

He must have drifted off, after all. He hadn’t really thought that he would, despite how exhausted he had felt - he’d been so keyed up. He ignored the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that he was finally able to calm down because of Arya (all she’d done was sit there. And force a pillow on him. There was no need for him to and get all sentimental about it). He looked over at the girl in question, to see her sitting cross-legged beside him with a book in her lap. 

Gendry cleared his throat, and pushed himself upright. He stretched out the kink in his neck - he was definitely in an improved state, but still. Sleeping on a bus could only be _so_ comfortable. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, handing the pillow back to her. His voice was still gravelly from sleep, and he still didn’t feel fully functional just yet.

Arya just blinked at him, and for a second he wondered if he hadn’t actually spoken. He was _not_ properly awake. She was just looking at him, and biting into her bottom lip, seeming lost in thought. All of a sudden, though, she seemed to snap herself out of whatever daze she was in, and perked up to her normal self.

“Better?” Her eyes shone with an ‘I-told-you-so’ glint. He found it awfully attractive.

“Yeah. Sorry about… earlier.” It’s not like it was _her_ fault he had been too anxious about letting her down to get a moments’ rest last night, causing him to be a grumpy, moody prick. Actually… maybe it kind of was. Indirectly. She had stirred up all these stupid feelings inside him, after all. He had already established, after the showcase, that a lot of his anxiety stemmed from how much this meant to _her_.

“Don’t worry. You can make it up to me.” She was looking far too smug now. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this proposition. He was still trying to decide if this whole thing was her fault or not.

“Yeah? How’s that?” Arya was appraising him with one eyebrow raised. He could have sworn her gaze dropped to his lips, and in an instant he felt like all the air was being sucked out of his lungs -

“Let’s go out and kill it today, yeah?” Right. Yes. Today. Their performance. That was clearly what she was focused on, not - what he had been thinking. For just the briefest of moments. He was an idiot. He tried to rally his thoughts, and chase away anything untoward that he had been considering. 

“As m’lady commands.” Gendry couldn’t help but grin at her, as he knew she would get aggravated, like she always did -

“Ew, please stop.” Arya walloped him with her pillow, and he chuckled at her. He wondered, briefly, how she was a real person. How one human could be so warm, and caring, and feisty, and understanding. _And_ look like that. 

As much stress as this year and this Gods-forsaken team had brought him, he knew that if Hot Pie had never conned him into trying out, he likely would never have met Arya. He’s certain that she wouldn’t be the staple in his life that she had unexpectedly become, anyway.

Maybe listening to Hot Pie wasn’t _always_ the worst idea.

***

Gendry quickly realized, as they stepped off the bus and into the sports arena, that one cramped nap was not nearly enough to cure him of his nausea and dread, and listening to Hot Pie had most definitely been a terrible idea, after all. As soon as they walked in the doors, he was bombarded with people everywhere he could see. Cheerleaders of all ages, as well as what must be parents, and friends, and coaches - they were _everywhere_. He learned, to his displeasure, that his team was not the only one with a terrible routine music mix. Teams were milling about all over the place, each with their own portable speaker and playing their own monstrosity.

He wondered if he wasn’t, perhaps, still asleep. Maybe the past few months had all been a strange, warped dream.

***

They shuffled along, through the unbearable crowds, until they found their own little corner, and Podrick proceeded to blast _their_ terrible mix, on repeat, to ‘get them hype’.

Great. They were part of the problem.

This went on for over an hour, and he sat there stewing, while the girls (and Lommy) put their stupid eyelashes on and did whatever else needed doing.

***

Contrary to their showcase performance, Gendry actually welcomed the warm-up. Finally, he could do something - something other than sit there and think about how his heart had been racing for hours and how much he wanted to go home. 

At least, during warm-up, he could keep busy. His thoughts were full of counting, and where to go next, and all the little things he had to do to ensure Arya could ‘feel him’ as she was so fond of saying.

And it went just fine. He knew what he had to do, to keep her in the air, and they hit every stunt.

It was the calmest he had felt since walking into the building.

***

That feeling did not last long.

He promptly decided that, despite all of the absurdities and uncomfortable situations he had been forced into on this team, waiting to go on stage after warm-up was by _far_ the most offensive. He wasn’t sure if he could even feel his face, and he was grateful he hadn’t had anything to eat for lunch.

If he had, he surely would have emptied his stomach all over the floor by now.

***

Three minutes later, Gendry was once again in a daze. He wondered, bemusedly, what he kept getting himself so worked up about. It was over so fast. Like a blink, and it was done. Almost instantly, he could feel his face again, and he could hear the cheers, and -

He was whooping in celebration.

It caught even _him_ off guard. (Somebody else had clearly possessed his body during this time - he was not one for celebratory whooping.)

His ears were still ringing, a bit - they really blasted these horrendous songs at an unsafely loud volume. It had gone well - he knew that, this time. His parts, at least. His heart was galloping in his chest, and he knew he was grinning widely.

He figured this wild, out-of-body feeling must wear off soon.

(He kind of didn’t want it to, though.)

***

Everything happened in a blur, after that. They had been one of the last teams to perform, and were ushered almost immediately to the awards ceremony. Gendry still felt like he was in a dream. There were teams all around, in different colours, from different schools - had no idea who was who.

There were different divisions, apparently. This was news to him. So they weren’t being compared to _every_ team there (that must be a good thing, right?). He didn’t have the faintest clue who they _were_ against, though.

He supposed it didn’t matter. They’d all already gone, anyway.

***

When their name was called, Gendry almost missed it. There were a _lot_ of divisions, okay? And he didn’t even know the name of theirs. Plus he had stopped listening fifteen minutes in, anyway.

He would have missed it, if Arya hadn’t grabbed him, shrieking, and pulled him to his feet while she jumped around him like the most adorable and cracked out bunny rabbit he had ever seen. He took this to be an altogether positive reaction, and assumed they must have done well.

***

They did. Hot Pie informed him (incredulously, because ‘ _how_ could Gendry not know?! Was he even _at_ the awards?!’) that they had won their division. And qualified for Nationals. And been named some kind of Grand Champion, which sounded pretty impressive, actually.

Huh.

Now that it was all over - he was pretty sure he had never felt so exhausted. He couldn’t wait to shower, collapse into bed, and (hopefully) wake up in the morning with a firmer grip on reality.

Their hotel was attached to the sports centre, and Gendry thanked the Gods for small miracles. Having to get to a new destination seemed like an unachievable feat in his current state.

***

Gendry was just toweling off his hair when he heard the knock. He rolled his eyes. Hot Pie had his _own_ key - it was very typical of him to prefer knocking to fishing it out on his own and just letting himself in. He probably had his hands full of vending machine snacks - if so, he had better share.

Groaning, he pulled the door open, already prepared with his diatribe.

“Honestly, mate, you know -”

He stopped short, as standing in front of him was not Hot Pie. How was he both surprised and extremely not at the same time? Arya was -

Gods, she always had to look so fucking good. She was clearly freshly showered, as the extreme makeup and extra eyelashes had been removed, leaving her face scrubbed clean and tinged slightly pink. Her hair was piled atop her head in an incredibly elaborate wet tangle. He couldn’t help but gulp as he took in the rest of her - she certainly seemed ready for bed, if her worn, oversize t-shirt and loose-fit shorts were any indication. She was also carrying a bag.

He felt alarms begin to go off in his mind - and promptly realized that neither of them had said anything yet. He tried to force his mouth to remember how to make sounds. At least it wasn’t just him - Arya’s gaze seemed to be particularly focused on his chest, and it’s not like _she_ was saying anything either.

He felt heat creep up the back of his neck as his lack of clothing registered to him. It wasn’t a big deal to let Hot Pie in wearing nothing more than a pair of sweats, but somehow…

Having it be Arya standing in front of him made the whole thing suddenly feel extremely inappropriate. She was still taking in his upper body - there was no way he was imagining the look on her face, either, right? Her gaze spread heat throughout him, and the thought of her liking what she saw went straight to his cock. 

_You’re being ridiculous._

Abruptly, he cleared his throat and motioned for her to come in, before quickly striding to his bag. Haphazardly, he grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over his head, letting out an imperceptible sigh of relief. This would certainly help his situation.He couldn’t fill his head with absurd notions of Arya appreciating his chest if she couldn’t see it anymore. 

“Thought you were Hot Pie,” he mumbled, hoping she would pick up on his underlying apology for his attire.

“I gathered,” she grinned at him. Gendry flopped down on his bed. Arya crawled up beside him - oh, no. She was propping herself up on the pillows. _His_ pillows. The situation was getting more and more dire by the minute. Putting his t-shirt on was not nearly enough to save him. He felt frozen, staring at her as she got comfortable beside him without a care in the world.

“He snuck in to see Maggie. They definitely _do_ need privacy, these days, I can promise you that. I came out of the shower to some frightening visuals.” She shuddered. Gendry couldn’t help but be proud of his friend. But he -

“He told me he was going to grab a snack.”

Arya arched one perfect eyebrow in his direction.

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” she stated dryly.

His eyes widened, as he realized what she must have -

He groaned, and pulled his pillow over his face. 

“I did not need that visual,” he complained, voice muffled as he attempted to use his bedding as protection from the onslaught of offensive images that had bombarded him.

Arya snorted.

“Please. I had to witness it. You’re just hearing about it.” Gendry had to admit that that _must_ have been worse. Poor girl.

“Anyway. It’s cool if I crash here, yeah? I am _not_ risking going back in there.” All Gendry could think was how utterly relieved he was that the pillow was still covering his face. This meant she couldn’t see his expression, and how panicked her statement had rendered him. He tried to convince himself that this was fine. She could stay here. He could most definitely handle this, he was very strong -

She tugged the pillow off of his face. He hadn’t yet schooled his features into a neutral expression - Gods damn it. 

“You know I’m going to take your silence as a yes, right?” Gendry blinked at her.

Slowly, he nodded. He still didn’t know what words would stumble out of his mouth if he opened it, so. Best to say nothing at all.

“Great. So? What did you think of your first real competition?” She was beaming at him like she already knew - she knew how overwhelming the whole day had been for him. He sat up beside her, and let her know just that.

The bad parts, the ludicrous parts… the good parts. All of it. He hoped, if he talked enough, he would forget how close she was, and how comfortable she looked, and how good she smelled.

It kind of worked.

Sort of.

(Not really.)

***

“How did you get into… all of this?” He was genuinely curious. In some ways, he found cheerleading suited her perfectly. She was definitely the proper size for it, and had all the bravery and energy in the world. In other ways… he thought of the eyelashes, and the hairspray, and the fake tans, and how, outside of performances, she always seemed so… opposite of all that.

“It’s cheesy,” she warned. Gendry couldn’t care less. He happened to enjoy cheese. He let her know that, and she snorted, before indulging him.

“My mom got my sister and I into it when we were… I want to say, eleven? Eleven and thirteen. And I was determined to hate it. On principle.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she continued.

“I was a bit of a...hellion, you might say. Drove my mom crazy. And I was sure that any activity she put me in would be total crap. I was a demon my first practice. Ran around everywhere, wouldn’t listen to a damn thing, terrified my coaches, I think.”

Gendry couldn’t help but grin at the image of a little Arya, wreaking havoc wherever she went. She was definitely a whirlwind, and he had only known her in her adult life.

“So? What changed?”

She laughed. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of hearing her laugh.

“What changed was… Sansa hated it even more than I did.” Gendry looked at her, not comprehending. She sighed a bit.

“Sansa and I… butted heads a lot. We’re just different, you know? And we’re older now, and it’s fine, but as kids, and, Gods-forbid… pre-teens… we didn’t get on the best.”

Gendry just nodded at this. It sounded pretty standard to him, but it’s not like he had any siblings of his own to compare it to. 

“After the first practice, Mom came to pick us up, and I was ready to just rip her a new one about how stupid the whole thing was. But Sansa… just immediately burst into tears, and sobbed the whole way home. Wailing that it was horrible, and she didn't want to do it, and she wouldn’t come back.”

Gendry was even more confused now. Although, comparing it to his own first impressions of the activity… he could see how they would come to these conclusions.

“Like I said, I was a hellion. As soon as I knew Sansa hated it, it immediately seemed a lot more awesome.”

He frowned at her. Girls were so confusing. And it looked like they started that at a very early age. No wonder he never knew what was going through her head. This sounded perfectly backwards to him.

Arya shook her head slightly, and gave him a wry smile.

“I didn’t say a negative word about it. I think Mom was shocked - she knew to expect hell from me, and she was ready for it. Surprising her was kind of fun, too. From that next practice on, I actually loved it. The first time I flew - it was a thigh stand, I was barely a foot off the ground. I was obsessed. Then I tried tumbling - and that was even better.” She smiled fondly at the memory, and he couldn’t help the lightness he felt watching her reminisce. 

“I never looked back, really.” She shrugged at him. He didn’t know what to say still, but he was happy to keep listening to her stories. He hoped that would be enough.

“Now, it’s… it’s just my thing, you know? The thing I’m best at. And it’s…” She chewed her lip a bit. “I know my Mom loves to watch me do it. I don’t want to say I do it _for_ her, because I don’t, but… you know what I mean? I’d never had her excited about something I was into, before. It meant a lot more to me than I thought it would.”

Gendry’s heart clenched. He _didn’t_ know what she meant, not really. In some ways he was grateful for that - in others, not so much.

His own mother had been excited about anything he wanted to do, just because he was doing it. He supposed she got sick before he was old enough to do anything she might disapprove of. He was immensely grateful when Arya piped up again, distracting him from dwelling on the past, and what could have been.

“Plus,” she added, “It’s supremely bad-ass. In any other sport, if you get hit, or something, everyone knows, and you can run to the bench and complain, or cry, or whatever. Here… you’re definitely not getting a sub, and you had better smile like nothing's wrong the entire time. It’s just wicked.”

Gendry couldn’t help but reckon that his initial impressions of her, and how terrifying she was, were actually bang on. And he definitely was not going to deny that she was supremely bad-ass. But mostly, he was eternally grateful that she had managed to lighten the tone, and his mood, without him ever saying anything.

“Cheesy enough for you?” She sent him a cheeky grin, and it was absolutely contagious. He smiled back at her.

“Not bad. Better story than mine, at least.” She scoffed at him.

“Well. That bar is not exactly high.”

He could feel his jaw working as he tried to hide his smile. He was surprised by how much he wanted to touch her. Maybe he shouldn’t be, considering his thoughts since… well, pretty much ever since he’d met her. But it wasn’t just _that_. He wanted to pull her into him and hold her close. Brush her hair out of her face. Have her rest her head on his chest and tell him stories about her as a little girl and all the trouble she inevitably got up to. 

Abruptly, he realized he was still gazing at her, and, as usual, not saying anything. He cleared his throat quickly. He didn’t want to make things weird.

“Okay, boss. What are we watching?” He handed her the tv remote, and she brightened immediately. She only needed to scroll for several seconds, before she had made her decision.

“This, definitely. Have you seen it?”

He had not. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down and watched a television show. It helped that he didn’t have cable. Or a streaming service. Or any free time.

Arya hit play, before shooting him a toothy smile.

“It’s absolute garbage.”

He wasn’t sure why that made her so happy, but he wasn’t going to complain.

***

“He looks like a knock-off John Mayer.”

She hummed in agreement. Knock-off John Mayer gazed into a girls’ eyes and started to strum the first chords of ‘Gravity’, and Gendry spun towards Arya, triumphant.

“Unreal! What did I tell you? John Mayer.”

He felt supremely satisfied. The feeling only intensified when Arya laughed, and whacked him with her pillow.

***

He watched another dude sit on the couch, and begin serenading a girl with ‘Slow Dancing in a Burning Room’.

“Wait.”

Arya glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

“That’s the same girl, right? But this isn’t Knock-off John Mayer. There’s another Knock-Off John Mayer?”

He frowned at the screen. He was fairly certain this was a different guy.

Pretty sure.

“Do you think she knows it’s a different guy?”

“Yes, she knows, she cried about it extensively twenty minutes ago - don’t you remember?”

“That was _her_ crying? I thought that was someone else.”

“No, it was definitely her - do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“No.”

***

Arya groaned beside him, and he looked over to find her inspecting her phone with a decidedly unimpressed look on her face.

“It’s Maggie. She says, and I quote, that she’s terribly sorry they forgot I was still there while in the midst of their throes of passion. I wish I was kidding, look for yourself -”

She tilted the screen towards him, and a quick scan of the messages showed that Arya was not exaggerating in the slightest. He hadn’t realized Hot Pie would invoke such passion. Good for him.

“Oh, another one. She says he is definitely a keeper, and requests I stay somewhere else for the remainder of the evening.” Arya snorted and patted the bag beside her on his bed. 

“I am many steps ahead of her on that one. And she says - oh. That’s all.” Gendry frowned. Arya’s cheeks looked just the slightest bit flushed, and she seemed to be holding the device a lot more defensively than she had been a minute ago.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“That’s not all.”

Arya nodded vigorously, and widened her eyes to an expression of utmost innocence. Gendry didn’t trust it for one second. He stared her down, waiting for the slightest movement -

Her hand twitched, and he lunged. She saw his intentions immediately, as she dove out of the way with a shriek.

“Don’t even _try_ , I am way too quick for you -”

And she was. He had no idea what she had done with her phone, but it was no longer in her hand, and she was no longer within arms reach. Almost instantly, she was standing triumphantly at the foot of the bed. He swallowed, as his eyes seemed determined to be glued to her slim, toned legs. He felt that her shorts were doing far too little to hide them from view, and it was giving him all of the wrong ideas. He tore his gaze away, back to her face -

That didn’t help him, either, because she had a slight flush to her cheeks, and a wide smile, and her eyes seemed to dance as she took him in. Gods, he just wanted to -

Damn. He was making it weird again. How many times was he going to do this tonight? He quickly tried to distract himself, and squinted at the television over her shoulder.

“Hey - I think one of the John Mayers went home.”

She threw a look over her shoulder, before clambering back up onto the bed.

“They’re both still there.”

“Really?” He frowned, while she rolled her eyes and nodded at him in affirmation.

“Huh.”

***

“Gods, how long _is_ this show?” He mumbled sleepily. He felt like it had been on for an eternity, and he still didn’t know what was happening. There was lots of singing, and _lots_ of crying. It really wasn’t a very good combination.

“You don’t wanna know,” Arya sighed happily.

***

Gendry was extremely comfortable. More comfortable than he could remember being in a long time, really. The hotel bed was warm and soft, and certainly of a much higher quality than that in his dorm room. He let out a contented sigh, and -

Something was tickling his nose. He cracked an eye open, and realized several problematic things simultaneously. First, the objects tickling his nose were the soft baby hairs at the back of a distinctly feminine neck. His heart-rate began to accelerate as sleep left him more and more surely, and he was able to take stock of more of his surroundings. The next problem was that he was clearly still in bed with Arya Stark. Not _only_ that, but he had managed to wrap himself around her like some possessive octopus during the night. He did recall that they had been watching that terrible show, and she’d been sitting next to him, but -

How had they ended up like this? They were both still on top of the covers, and her back was pressed firmly against his chest, while his leg was wedged between hers, and his hand -

His hand was definitely underneath her shirt. How had that happened? He cursed his sleeping self. He couldn’t let his guard down for one minute, it would seem. Even his subconscious knew what he was after. His fingers were splayed across her soft skin. He would like nothing more than to say that they were safely in the region of her abdomen, but…

They were definitely a bit high. Definitely, inappropriately high. His only saving grace was that he was not actually cupping her breasts - he figured if he was, he could likely be liable for some kind of assault. But he was dangerously close, and he couldn’t stop the traitorous thoughts telling him just _how_ close he was, and that he should just -

He stopped that train of thought as soon as he could. She was _asleep_ for Gods sake, he couldn’t be going around pawing at her like some animal with no self control. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he desperately tried to control the stirrings in his cock. He wanted to remove his hand (really, he did) but the last thing he needed was to have her wake up and find him like this, with his hand up her shirt, half-hard behind her -

He would just have to stay perfectly still, and he was certain that soon enough he would fall back into a dreamless slumber. His eyes fluttered shut and he prayed for sleep to return.

But then -

He wondered (not for the first time) if she was some mythical creature sent to this earth with the sole purpose of torturing him, as she rolled her hips back into him and her breath hitched.

He felt that he was already frozen, but if it was possible at all, he froze even more at this, with his heart in his throat (and his blood rushing decidedly further south). Why was she doing this to him? Even in sleep, she was determined to torment him? 

She arched her back against him, pushing her ass more firmly into his length, which was now decidedly more than half-hard. She mumbled something unintelligible, before letting out a sigh. He could hardly breathe. He felt that each thumping beat of his heart was mirrored by the throbbing in his cock, as it strained against his sweats, demanding attention.

He didn’t know what to do. He had to get himself out of this situation somehow, before he lost his head completely, and -

He wanted to lose his head completely. He wanted to bite into her neck, just below her ear, and let his hand drift up just slightly. He wanted to cup her breast, and feel the smooth weight of it in his hand, before ghosting his thumb over her nipple and have her wake with a shaky breath. He wanted to pull her shorts to the side, and feel the heat of her, slick for him, before sinking into her and -

He was going to the seventh Hell. He was. He had suspected it, before, but this was surely proof - sure, he wasn’t acting on any of these impulses, but he sure as hell wasn’t pulling away either.

A disapproving voice in his head was telling him that he _could_ , if he wanted to. He could shift away without waking her, without her ever knowing about the situation they somehow found themselves in. He could.

If he wanted to.

He couldn’t deny that he didn’t want to. As guilty as he felt, and as tortuous as it was to have her here, so close but still miles out of reach...

Her proximity made his heart pound, and her skin beneath his fingers was smooth as silk, and her ass was pressed up against his cock in the most maddening yet addictive way. This could be the closest he ever got to her. And he was expected to cut it short? Willingly?

He tried to keep his breathing steady. He hadn’t done anything _wrong_ , really. She was the one who kept wiggling against him, making these Gods-forsaken sounds and driving him mad. He hadn’t moved at all. 

And he wouldn’t. He would stay completely still, until he calmed down, and sleep finally claimed him again, and in the morning it would be like -

He shot upright. Their door was opening, as light from the hallway began to spill into the room, before it clicked softly shut. Footsteps were approaching, and his heart thundered as his eyes tried to re-adjust to the dark. Someone was in here, and he had to -

It was Hot Pie. Gendry watched his lumbering form head towards the second bed, before flopping down face first on top of all the covers and neglecting to move any further.

Of course it was Hot Pie. Gendry tried to slow his heart and relax. He didn’t know what came over him. Who else could it have possibly been? Hot Pie had a key. This was _his_ room, too, after all. Gendry let out a sigh of relief, before slowly lowering himself back down beside Arya.

He _had_ shifted away from her, in all that excitement. He glanced down at her longingly - but no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t purposefully go back to where he was - that would be wrong. She was asleep. There was no way he could possibly justify putting himself back where he had been.

He rolled away from her, and desperately tried to think of anything other than Arya’s warm body just inches from his, and the little sounds she had made, and how it felt to wake up with her in his arms -

He failed, and he was certain he didn’t sleep a wink for the remainder of the night.

***

He must have, though, because the first thing that registered to him was that he was now alone in the bed. Despite all his internal complaints of how torturous it was to have her there, he couldn’t deny that waking up without her caused his stomach to sink. 

Hot Pie was up, though, bustling about and getting everything packed up.

Gendry cleared his throat, and hoped his confused, sleepy thoughts would clear simultaneously.

“Why’d you come back here?” It was the first thing he thought of. He wondered, vaguely, how he would have fared if Hot Pie hadn’t crept in when he had.

Hot Pie looked at him as if he had asked a ludicrous question.

“You _know_ how much I snore. I didn’t want her to hear that just yet!” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head a little.

Gendry frowned. He supposed Hot Pie had done him a favour. In a way. He ought to thank him.

Somehow, he didn’t feel as grateful as the thought he probably ought to.

***

When Arya threw herself down into the bus seat beside him, the relief he felt was stronger than he would have anticipated.

He’d been worried, a little, when he woke up and she was gone - that maybe, despite all his best efforts, he _had_ made things weird. He obviously couldn’t trust his sleeping self. Who knows what he might have done.

Arya seemed perfectly content, though, and what started as a spark of relief continued to spread through him, until he was smiling down at her unabashedly.

***

“Aardvark.”

“Bull.”

“Capybara.”

“Dog.”

“Electric Eel.” She looked at him hopefully.

“You don’t get extra points just because there are so many ‘E’s in that.” She pouted, and he fought down a smile.

“Fish.”

Arya hesitated, and threw him a look from the corner of her eye. He felt the grin creeping across his face.

“Do it,” he encouraged. “Just say a regular old animal. You know you want to.”

Arya scoffed, and chewed on her lip. Gendry felt satisfaction blooming within him, and crossed his arms over his chest while continuing to survey her with his eyebrows raised.

“Clock’s ticking.”

He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but it was just hilarious to watch her. Gendry was sure she could easily think of an animal that started with a G - but she was so damn stubborn. She wanted to win in spectacular fashion, and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He sighed dramatically, and made a show of drumming his fingers impatiently against his upper arm. Her gaze dropped to the movement, and he felt very smug. His technique was clearly working, to make her feel rushed and flustered and maybe, just maybe, he would actually win this game -

Until her eyes snapped back to his, and he felt mesmerized, as he always did, by the many shades of grey, and just how expressive they were. She leaned dangerously close to him - why was she so close to him? He felt like all the air had left his lungs.

“Garter snake.” He almost didn’t hear her over the thundering of his heart, having her invading his personal space like this. It was her turn to look smug now, as she raised her eyebrow in challenge.

Right. He was supposed to respond. He wished she would back up so he could think of something, but as it was his brain was all jumbled up -

“Hot Dog.”

Shit. What the hell? He didn’t have time to lament his idiocy, because Arya was positively cackling beside him. She was doing that thing where she snorted in the middle, too, and it was unbelievably contagious. Before he knew it he was laughing right along with her, and that more than made up for the fact that he was a complete moron.

“You are so bad at this,” she managed to gasp out. “Hot dog?!” She started laughing all over again.

“I don’t know,” he choked out, covering his face with his hands, trying to control the waves of mirth that were rolling over him. He didn’t even know why any of this seemed so funny. His sides were starting to hurt - he had to calm down.

“I mean, ‘dog’ is an animal. So. I was half-way there,” He tried to justify in the midst of catching his breath.

“You already _said_ dog! And your letter was H!” Arya had tears leaking out the corners of her eyes, and his face felt like it would split in half with the width of his grin. She could laugh at him all she wanted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much warmth.

***

Considering how much he had been dreading Regionals and all that came along with it... when their bus pulled up to campus, and he readied himself to disembark, Gendry found it difficult to comprehend how light he felt after it was all done, and how fondly he looked back on the trip.

Life could be full of surprises, he supposed.


	8. March

By the time March rolled around, Gendry had come to the conclusion that he was absolutely fucked. Not literally, unfortunately, but more… existentially. He had made the uncomfortable discovery that his attraction to Arya Stark was not only not going anywhere, but it was getting… worse. More all-encompassing. He thought about her _all the time_. It never seemed to stop. He’d see something she’d find funny, and want to text her about it. He’d hear a song and it would remind him of her (no matter what it was about - what was the deal with that?). He’d think about her before he went to sleep, and she would haunt his dreams in all the worst (okay, best) ways.

Even his dorm room, his safe space, was no longer safe. He couldn’t help but picture her on his bed, or lounging on his floor, and remember all of the times (he couldn’t even count them anymore, at this point) she had dropped by just to study or hang out or laugh at Hot Pie.

He didn’t fully understand how he could have not even known her at this time last year, and now the idea of not having her around was utterly incomprehensible to him. 

He was not oblivious to the fact that the season would be ending soon, either. The thought that he wouldn’t be guaranteed to see her at least twice a week at practices caused an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach.

***

Sometimes, when they were studying together, and she was teasing him about something or other... or, at the end of a tough practice, when they’d nailed their sequence, she would look at him a certain way, and he would think, maybe -

Maybe he could ask her on a date, or something.

And maybe she’d say yes.

It’s not like she didn’t like him. She must not hate being around him, or she wouldn’t voluntarily choose to be as frequently as she did. And she would often smile at him, and laugh, and so maybe -

But he would shut the idea down as soon as it came into his head, most of the time. Because Arya wasn’t like him. She smiled and laughed with _everyone_. Sure, she liked him fine. She liked _everyone_. And once he remembered that, and how scornfully she had looked at him at the start of the year when she’d thought he was trying to get girls -

She had made her thoughts about guys like him making moves on team members crystal clear. And they were friends, now, besides. That would undoubtedly make it worse when she would glare at him reproachfully, irritated that he couldn’t just leave things be. It was inevitable that that would make things terribly uncomfortable between them, and that thought made his stomach flip in an even _worse_ way.

He would shake his head to himself, and that would be that. He wasn’t going to mess up a good thing.

***

“So, what are Arya’s plans for summer semester?” Gendry glanced up from his laptop and furrowed his brow at Hot Pie. He shrugged. Because he really didn’t know. For reasons that he didn’t want to examine too closely, thinking about anything further in the future than the current competitive season filled him with dread. So it’s not like it was a topic he was super enthused to bring up with Arya.

“Hmm. Maybe she’ll have a work term. Go down south and meet some fancy businessman and fall passionately in love -”

Gendry cut off Hot Pie’s musings with an aggravated huff and slammed his laptop shut. He wasn’t going to get anything else done at this rate, not with Hot Pie rambling on about bullshit that he had _no_ interest in hearing.

“Well, I’m just saying, it could happen, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities -”

“What is your point?” Gendry couldn’t help but burst out exasperatedly. As much as he knew Hot Pie meant well, sometimes he really didn’t grasp when somebody was not a willing participant of a conversation. Hot Pie, as usual, was unfazed by his outburst, and just shrugged innocently.

“Just that she’s… you know. Very single. She’s not gonna stay like that _forever_ , do you… get… what I’m saying?” Hot Pie was looking at him with wide, round eyes, as if he were explaining something to a small child. Gendry had a brief urge to knock the look right off his face - he pushed that down. His blood was still boiling as he pictured Arya draped over some _businessman_ -

It wouldn’t help to take that out on Hot Pie. He clearly thought he was helping, here, despite managing nothing but to make Gendry want to smash all the objects in his vicinity. Hot Pie was nodding at him encouragingly.

“Thanks,” he ground out. He stood abruptly, before grabbing his jacket and storming out of the room. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but it made him feel a little bit better to slam the door behind him.

So. That was something, at least.

***

As he stomped around the courtyard trying (and failing) to forget the images that Hot Pie had contaminated him with… Gendry very unhappily came to the conclusion that he, actually, was right. Arya was single, and available, and had been the entire time he’d known her - that, in itself, was a miracle. But she wouldn’t always be. And what was he actually expecting to happen? He’d already realized that his feelings for her weren’t going anywhere. He’d been trying to contain them for months, already. 

He couldn’t carry on like he had been forever. That much, at least, was finally clear to him. He _was_ going to tell her. How he felt. How she had brightened up his whole world, and everything sucked so much less when she was around -

That didn’t sound terribly romantic, actually, but Gendry hoped she would appreciate his honesty, at least.

He had to _try_. He refused to look back on this year and have the only thing he remembered be the fact that he was the biggest fucking coward in all of Westeros.

But.

He ought to wait, just a bit. That was simply good sense. Even if _sometimes_ (only sometimes), he let himself think that she might actually _want_ to hear this -

There was undoubtedly a chance that she wouldn’t.

And their season was _so_ close to being done. The weeks leading up to Nationals were flying by, and the thought of telling her before, and having her look at him with her grey eyes wide and sad while she explained that she was flattered but it was just not going to happen -

It made his insides curl with dread. As did the thought that they would still see each other, and stunt together, and he’d have to pretend everything was fine and keep his focus enough to not fuck up the biggest moment of the season because she’d shattered his heart -

No, thanks.

He was perfectly patient, and he could just… wait.

It’s not like delaying would make him feel any better if it didn’t go the way he hoped, but… at least he wouldn’t have to see her all the time. Thoughts swirled at the edge of his mind, of how shitty it would be to _not_ see her all the time, and have her stop dropping by unannounced, and not be able to carry on in the fun, easy way they had been -

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed back to his room. He forced himself to think of other things, before he managed to talk himself all the way back out of this resolution he had just made. 

He _would_ tell her. Eventually.

***

Practices leading up to Nationals were… pretty much the same as leading up to Regionals. Except somehow worse. If he had to hear, one more time, that ‘everything they have been working for for months has all been leading up to this’, he was going to absolutely lose it. He wasn’t sure who got the idea in their head that notions like that made people mentally prepared to go out and perform well. It had the opposite effect on him, making him simultaneously want to vomit, hit something, and pass out.

So, not an altogether positive feeling.

***

There was no escaping it, though. This was part of what he had signed up for all those damned months ago, and before he knew it, he was boarding a plane bound for King’s Landing. He hadn’t really planned on _ever_ going back there, if he was honest, but… well, he hadn’t expected to be in his current situation. 

For the duration of the flight, and the bus ride to their seaside hotel afterwards, his stomach was full of snakes. Brienne and Podrick had spent plenty of time coaching them on ‘mental tenacity’ and ‘visualizations’ that would supposedly help them with their nerves and ability to perform under pressure -

Try as he might, Gendry just didn’t think they were really working for him. Anytime he thought about anything remotely to do with their routine, he lost all appetite. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t able to keep any food down at all before they needed to go on.

That couldn’t be good for his stamina.

***

The venue was bigger than any he’d ever had any reason to set foot in. He thanked the Gods for small miracles in that this time, he knew what to expect. That was a step up from Regionals, at least, and even though he didn’t feel any better, he wasn’t surprised by what was going on around him. He’d brought his own large noise-cancelling headphones, and blared his own music while the girls (and Lommy) all got ready. If he closed his eyes and just listened, he could pretend he was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere where he wouldn’t be expected to go out in just a short amount of time, and perfectly perform all the skills that he had been working on since September. And they had one shot to do it. Their routine was only two and a half minutes long - he was struck, once again, by how absurd this whole thing was.

He couldn’t count the number of hours they had spent working on this. Not just their standard practice time; it was far more than that, if you counted how often they stayed late (an alarming amount in the past month as Nationals crept closer and closer). Countless hours. And they had one chance, for less than three minutes, and then it would all be over.

And it could all have been for nothing, if he didn’t do everything right.

Why did _anyone_ voluntarily want to do this? 

He was contemplating asking somebody to construct a time machine, and take him back to August, and tell him that this was a terrible idea -

But then Podrick was tapping him on the shoulder, and he pulled his headphones off, and…

It was time.

***

He could barely feel his hands as they went through warm-up. And he dropped Arya, once, and it was definitely his fault - his heart was in his throat, and he didn’t even want to meet her eyes. How was he supposed to toss her and catch her if he couldn’t feel his hands? She grabbed his face, and he was forced to look at her - he was caught off guard, again (he probably shouldn’t be, by now) by how beautiful she was. And how kind her eyes were. He was pretty sure she was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear her over the rushing in his ears. He just nodded anyways, and they went again.

And it was fine. 

He tried to just keep breathing.

***

He never, in a million years, would have guessed there was anything that could calm him down before they went on the stage. He could hear the crowd from behind the curtain where they were all huddled, and Brienne had tears in her eyes as she told them how proud she was of them all, and Arya -

Arya grasped his hand, her grip like a Gods-damned vice. He looked down at her, ready to choke out that she could loosen up, a little, but -

The words died in his throat at the look on her face, because for the first time that he could ever remember… _she_ was nervous.

Her wide eyes were even wider than usual, and she was gazing at nothing, it seemed, and her nails were digging into his hand -

He could feel his hands again! He took a deep breath. He could do this. They could both do this. They’d done it countless times, and all Arya needed was for him to grab her damned feet and she would do the rest, she was an unstoppable force -

He gave her hand a squeeze, and her frantic eyes met his, and he nodded at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He still thought he might piss himself, and his heart was still thundering against his ribcage, but at least he could feel his hands again.

As long as he could feel his hands, he would be okay. And Arya was nervous, and she needed him -

She needed him to do this, and do it right.

***

So he did. It was amazing how simple it all could be, really. He ignored everyone - he didn’t give two shits about the judges, or the spectators, or whoever the fuck they were against - all he thought about was Arya. 

He remembered more and more, each time, what happened when they were performing. This time, he remembered the glare of the lights as they first ran out onto the floor, and the pounding of his heart as he waited for the music to start. He remembered hearing Hot Pie’s ecstatic yells as they did their first pyramid, but mostly - he remembered Arya’s scream of joy as soon as he caught her dismount from their stunt. Their eyes met, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen anybody look so happy. 

He’s pretty sure he smiled through the whole rest of the routine, without even worrying about it.

The second they hit their final pose, and it was over, and it was _great_ , the crowd was on their feet, and Hot Pie was shrieking in his ear, and they were running off the floor tripping over each other. His teammates were everywhere, and everybody was yelling, and the music was blasting, and then -

And then he couldn’t hear anything. Not the roar of the crowd, or the thumping of the music, not even the ringing of his own ears. All that he could register was that Arya was in his arms again, and her legs were wrapped around his waist again, but this time -

This time her lips were on his, and he registered that his hands were most definitely cupping her ass, and - she didn’t seem to mind.

He felt like he was floating, and wondered if this was all actually just a dream.

It wouldn’t shock him, if it was. He had dreamed of this exact scenario, pretty much, more times than he could care to admit, and -

And then it was over. She was grinning at him, breathlessly, and his heart was racing. He wasn’t sure what the look on his own face was - likely stunned. Bemused. He hoped she could tell that he was happy (over the moon, ecstatic, really, unless he was actually still asleep) -

“Arya!”

The shout came from behind him, from a strangled-sounding voice, and he -

He let go of her backside as hastily as he could, and she quickly dropped down to the ground. 

He turned, to see -

Oh, no. Oh, this seemed terribly familiar. He was fairly certain, now, that he was not dreaming, because surely his dreams would not subject him to something like this.

Standing before him was, once again, Ned Stark, only this time -

He wasn’t alone. 

Gendry watched Arya run up to embrace not only Ned, but the tall and right proper-looking woman beside him, and then…

Gods, there were a lot of them.

He felt that it was all too easy to tell that they were _all_ members of her family. Particularly from the way they all looked at _him_ , as soon as Arya had moved on from embracing them.

Gendry gulped, and found himself rubbing the back of his neck. 

He didn’t want to count the sets of eyes that were either glaring at him, or looking at him with _far_ too much interest -

Why did she have to have so many brothers? Heat crept up to the tips of his ears. 

He had thought it was bad, last time, meeting Arya’s father when she had been clinging to him moments before -

It went without saying that this was immeasurably worse.

“I’m just gonna…” He gestured vaguely behind him, and promptly marched off in an unknown direction. He had no clue where he was headed, or what he was supposed to do with himself now. All he knew was that he had to escape before one of the Stark men (or women, honestly) decided it was time for him to be castrated.

***

He didn’t get very far. For one thing, he was hesitant to lose sight of Arya (which, in itself, was ridiculous - it’s not like he would never see her again) and for another… he just didn’t really know, still, what was supposed to happen at this point in time. He knew the awards had to be soon - he supposed this was the time to converse with all the friends and family who had come to watch.

He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground, and ran a hand through his hair. This gap seemed incredibly long if you didn’t have anyone to catch up with.

***

Ned Stark was definitely looking at him. And talking about him, most likely, as he and an important looking man in a suit kept shooting glances that they clearly thought were subtle his way. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he tried to think logically. 

There was no reason for them to be talking about him. He didn’t even know who this dark-haired man was. He was being ridiculous. He wondered when he had become so paranoid (probably, actually, only a few minutes ago, when Ned Stark had witnessed him with his hands on his daughter’s ass while she -)

He watched as Brienne joined them, and shook the man’s hand. Okay. See, that was good. Brienne had no reason to be involved in a plot to kill him, she liked him well enough -

Why was she looking over here, too? They locked eyes, and Gendry felt his panic rise further. This couldn’t be a coincidence. He wished, more than anything, that the awards would start. He needed a distraction from his own wild thoughts. He felt that he had too much energy, now, to be standing still - he didn’t know how to handle going from the adrenaline of a performance like that to… this. Waiting. Worrying. Standing around. 

He didn’t like it.

***

Despite the minutes dragging on, and his worrying only worsening, the awards did come. Finally. The MC was making announcements that they were all to gather on the stage, and -

This was it, then.

The nervousness in his stomach was back - Gods, these days were exhausting. All their months of effort came down to this, and he -

He didn’t know fuck about anything, really. He knew he’d felt amazing during, and immediately after, their performance.

But. 

As usual, he didn’t know who they were against, or what the hell any other team was doing, and so…

He had no idea what to expect, here. He was surprised by how much he wanted to win. He hadn’t really considered himself all that invested, despite his nerves, but now that it was all done… 

He wanted their name to be called, and to be given a trophy or a banner or whatever the prize was. He wanted them to have been the best today.

He wanted this to be a day Arya never forgot.

She sat beside him during the awards again, and he could tell she was nervous. He couldn’t remember her being nervous at Regionals. He wondered if it was simply because the stakes were higher here, or because she knew more than him, and wasn’t confident in what the results would be.

He took her hand, and squeezed it gently. She smiled at him, tentatively, and he remembered her lips on his not even an hour ago. Gods, he wanted to kiss her again. He hoped he would get the chance.

***

He’d forgotten how long these stupid ceremonies took. There were speeches, and prizes given out, and random contests… He didn’t want to wait any longer, he just wanted to know the results.

If they’d done enough. If _he’d_ done enough.

When they finally got down to it, his heart was in his throat every time the MC started speaking. Arya had taken to gently shaking her head at him with each new division that was called - it still wasn’t their turn. He was grateful that she notified him, though, or he would be waiting for their name to be called when the announcements had nothing to do with them for an exceedingly long time.

***

When it was their division, finally, Hot Pie grabbed his other hand, and the whole team seemed to bow their heads forward and shove their faces into the mat in prayer - Gendry didn’t particularly want to do this, as the mats were kind of nasty, but -

He was the only one still sitting up.

_Fuck it._

If it was going to help anything, he might as well join in. 

He closed his eyes, and shoved his face towards the stupid mats, and his heart pounded, and he waited and waited and waited -

Until finally, they called second place, and it wasn’t them, so that must mean -

Arya was digging her nails into his hand again. He didn’t mind.

***

The MC had barely gotten out the first syllable of ‘Winterfell’ before the whole team was on their feet, and he was being pulled up right along with them. Confetti was shooting from Gods-knows-where, and -

There were a lot of tears. Arya’s eyes were glistening, and Brienne was downright sobbing. Gendry was shocked at the emotion he felt himself. He blamed it on the long day. He wasn’t all the way himself, was all, as he fought down a wave of immeasurable _something_ that poured over him. It was a lot to go through, in a short time, with so much adrenaline and then waiting, and ups and then downs, and - it was just a lot.

He cleared his throat, and yelled along with the rest of them, until his voice was hoarse.

***

They did get medals, after all. Gendry felt extremely satisfied when Arya draped it around his neck, biting her lip and smirking at him. The cheap little thing might as well have been made of real gold.

***

Celebrations were in order, it seemed. Gendry had felt so tired earlier that he could fall asleep standing up, but apparently that was no excuse to miss a team dinner. As he sat beside Arya, watching Brienne and Podrick reluctantly consume ridiculously-named shooters that certain team members had purchased for them -

He was glad he came. Brienne had colour high on her cheeks, and seemed ready to erupt in yet another impassioned speech, and Podrick had already openly wept at the table.

He was glad for all of it though, really, not just tonight. 

The whole year, all these months, and all the hard work that everyone had put in…

It seemed so much more worth it than he would ever have expected.

***

He was separated from Arya once the dinner was forcibly concluded (Lommy had knocked his wine glass onto the floor and smashed it - the guy really was clumsy). He was somewhat dejected as he made his way back to his room - he wanted to talk to her. There had been a lot of excitement, all day, and she’d…

Well, she had kissed him. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around the empty hotel room despairingly. Maybe he should text her, and ask her to come here, or…

She was always popping up where he was unannounced. Maybe he should do the same, and just show up at her door -

He didn’t even know what room she was in, though.

How did she always know what room _he_ was in? He frowned. He felt restless. He was exhausted, but at the same time, unbelievably keyed up - there was no way he could rest without knowing… what she was thinking about everything.

He paced across the room.

When the knock on his door came, he almost ran to it, praying, to all the Gods, that it was her -

And it was. She’d washed her face, and was dressed far more comfortably than she had been throughout the rest of the day. He tried to remember how to breathe as she stood in front of him. His heart was already racing, and he just wanted to pull her close, and -

He cleared his throat, and stepped aside so she could come in.

She brushed past him, and -

Okay, fuck it. He didn’t want to have small talk, or pretend nothing had happened, and he was quickly realizing that he had absolutely zero ability to act chill now that they were alone. He might as well just get to the bottom of things.

He tried, yet again, to clear his throat, before giving it up for a lost cause and just attempting to address the situation at hand.

“So, earlier… when you… after the -”

He broke off, frustrated with himself. Why couldn’t he just get the damn words out? She had kissed him. She _had_. In the heat of the moment. He knew what she must have been feeling, because he’d felt it himself -

That buzzing in your blood, and the pounding of your heart, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins like it never had before, and so she probably…

She maybe didn’t mean it. His own enthusiastic whooping came to mind, and he couldn’t help but cringe a little. He knew that those moments could make people… not entirely themselves. It had happened to him. 

He had to know, though. If it was a one-time celebration thing, and she would never even think about it again, or…

“Why did you kiss me?” He groaned internally, and ran a hand through his hair. He sounded like a nervous greenboy, and he wished he didn’t. He chanced a glance up at her, to find that she was observing him in amusement, with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised.

“Felt like it.” Right. Well, he could understand that. He always felt like kissing her, so. He wondered if that actually answered his question. He still felt confused.

“Plus, I finally realized you were _never_ gonna get around to it.” He blinked at her. She...

He tried to understand what she was saying. His heart felt like it was going uncomfortably fast, and he tried to swallow. He ended up just making a strangled-sounding noise - he prayed she didn’t notice. He wet his lips, and tried to think past the thudding of his heart. This was his chance. She was standing in front of him, and they had just won it all, and she had _kissed_ him -

“I would’ve. Got around to it. Sometime.” Because hadn’t that been the resolution he had made? She was getting awfully close to him. She still looked like she was trying not to laugh, and her eyes were sparkling and -

He desperately tried not to get distracted. He backed up a bit, and his knees hit the back of the bed. He felt a little bit trapped. Because he hadn’t said everything he meant to, yet, but she just kept coming closer, and he wasn’t going to be able to think -

“I just,” he swallowed. “I didn’t want to wreck things.” His voice was quieter than he anticipated. A part of him was clearly still trying to retreat so he could keep his thoughts together. He registered that he had sat down onto the bed when he couldn’t back up further, and was leaning back as far as he could without actually becoming horizontal - somehow, he thought that that would _not_ help matters.

“You’re an idiot.” Well, he certainly wasn’t going to disagree with her. Especially not when she was smiling at him the way she was, and -

Her lips were on his again, and he was sure, this time, that he was not dreaming. His heart stuttered in his chest, and all he could think about was the feel of her, and her hands clutching his face, and her body pressed close to his. Without his permission, his own hands had wound around her waist, and before he knew it she was straddling him, and he -

He hadn’t finished. He hadn’t _told_ her, not really, and he needed her to know. He forced himself to pull away, and was instantly filled with regret as she made a little whine of protest that made his cock twitch.

“Arya.” She didn’t look like she was listening. Her eyes were dark, and her cheeks were flushed, and her gaze was focused on his mouth, and... he was sure he’d never seen anything so lovely. How was he supposed to speak when she was looking at him like that? He pressed his forehead to hers, before closing his eyes. That would help him, surely. His heart raced.

“I really…” his hands flexed on her waist, and it grounded him, a bit. She was _here_. In his lap, kissing him like there was nothing else she wanted in the world, and it was better than he ever could have imagined, and -

He couldn’t just do this one time. And he needed her to know that.

“I fancy you. Loads.” There. Once the words were out, he exhaled, and forced his eyes back open so he could see the look on her face, and prayed he wasn’t about to get his heart stomped on because this had been a really good day so far -

She didn't seem too put off by this revelation. She seemed exceedingly pleased, actually, and he was choosing to take that as a promising sign, especially when her eyes were dancing the way they were.

She settled into his lap, rolling her hips against his, and _fuck_ -

His eyes fluttered shut again, and he exhaled through his nose. He couldn’t help but notice how perfectly she fit in his lap, and how good she felt pressed against him. 

“I know,” she whispered, and then she was kissing him again, and…

She knew… what? His brain felt all fuzzy, and there was a part of him that felt insistent that he needed to keep talking, but -

There was a much larger part of him that didn’t want to waste one more moment on discussions. Not when she was rolling her hips against his the way she was, and her tongue was in his mouth, and one of his hands was tangled in her hair. 

He couldn’t keep said hands still. Where he had just been winding his fingers through her soft dark hair, he found the same hand trailing up and down her spine, and then cupping her face, and then both of his roaming hands were on her ass, desperately trying to pull her in closer. The muffled little whimper she made at this caused his heart to hammer in his chest as his cock strained against his sweats. Her fingers had made their way underneath his shirt, and he couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him as she grazed her nails up his back. He still couldn’t believe he was really here, and this was happening. Not only had Arya Stark kissed him today, but she was now in his lap grinding against him, seeming as though there was nothing she’d like more than to have her way with him -

There was nothing _he’d_ like more, anyway.

His wandering hands were ghosting up the smooth skin of her thighs. Her shorts were far too short, as usual, and for once he was only too happy about that. He hesitated slightly as his fingers brushed the bottom of them, and wondered what she would do if he were to slip his hand further _up_ -

She had been only too enthusiastic to have his hands on her so far, so he figured, the odds were kind of on his side, here -

He spoke (or thought, rather) too soon, as the door swung open, and Hot Pie and Maggie stumbled in, giggling.

He froze, and felt Arya do the same on top of him. And then watched Maggie and Hot Pie do the _same_ \- Gods, what a sight they all must make.

Gendry felt heat creep up his neck as his eyes darted around the room wildly, desperately trying to think of something to say. Arya hopped off of him far too gracefully, and he missed her as soon as she did (despite the fact that it greatly helped his ability to formulate thoughts when he didn’t have her in his lap, rubbing against him maddeningly) - he coughed, and made to adjust his sweats. It did little to help disguise the predicament he was currently in. Luckily, everyone’s attention was quickly diverted as Maggie let out a shrill shriek. From the many exclamations that tumbled out of her mouth, Gendry surmised that she was extremely enthusiastic to have found them… the way they had been. There were a few ‘finally’s and ‘thank the Gods’ and ‘took forever’s being thrown around - more than Gendry felt were particularly warranted, but hey. Hot Pie surreptitiously shot him an enthusiastic thumbs up, and he resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. 

“Did you want us to... ?” Maggie was gesturing vaguely towards the door. Gendry opened his mouth to let them know (firmly, he hoped) that _yes_ , they were welcome to get the hell out of here, anytime, really -

“No, no, it’s fine,” Arya chimed in brightly. He promptly closed his mouth, and tried to keep the frown off of his face. He’s not sure he succeeded.

“Come on!” Arya was grabbing his arm, and seemed set on dragging him out of the room - Gendry was focused on ensuring he was directly behind her at all times, as he was uncomfortably aware of his own hardness and how it was not going away nearly as quickly as he would have appreciated.

He’s pretty sure he mumbled something as they left - but he might not have. He wasn’t necessarily firing on all cylinders at this point in time. 

He didn’t know where she was taking him, but, truth be told… he didn’t particularly care. 

***

She dragged him down a stone path to the seashore. He was surprised that there was still a bit of light - the day had felt immeasurably long. He would have sworn it was nearly midnight (he felt like he had been barely holding on to his grip on reality all day, and this just helped to confirm that he had no clue what was going on). It was beautiful, actually, which wasn’t a word he’d ever used to describe his home city before.

He told Arya as much, as they flopped down onto the sand. She sat between his legs, with her back against his chest, as she quietly asked him more about his life here, before he came up North. Her fingers doodled patterns on his thighs as he spoke, and he tried to remind himself all the while that she _did_ want to know. It was still a bit of a foreign concept, to him, but… it was nice.

More than nice.

***

He couldn’t say how long they sat there, listening to the sound of the waves and the calls of the birds. The sun had long since set, and he could almost forget that not far behind them was a terrible, bustling, stinking city that he had never wanted to set foot in again. Where they were, on this small stretch of shore, it seemed… peaceful.

They were the only ones around, and Arya was in his arms, and he still couldn’t quite believe the day that he had had.

Arya interrupted his musings as she suddenly hopped up out of the sand, turning towards him with a dangerous-looking smile.

“Nice night for a swim.” She had a glint in her eye that he knew meant nothing but trouble, and she was biting her lip in the way that drove him mad. He could already feel his body begin to respond, and all she’d done was fucking stand there in front of him -

Until she was pulling her hoodie off, and shimmying out of her little shorts, determined, apparently, to literally kill him right here on this beach. Any response he might have had flew out of his head, as he took in the vision in front of him. She turned around (he didn’t mind this at all, really, as it gave him ample opportunity to appreciate her ass that seemed entirely too perfect) and with what remained of his brain power he realized that she was slipping off her bra, and his cock was _far_ too on board with this.

He barely even registered what he was doing, but suddenly he had pulled off his own shirt, and was tripping in the sand trying to divest himself of his sweats as quickly as possible. He cursed a bit, but he wasn’t far behind her as she ran into the waves. Gods, he had a great view from back here -

That thought was cut short as he sloshed into the water, and ice washed over his feet. He’s fairly certain they were already going numb.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” How was she not freezing? Arya had already fully submerged herself, and he could see her laughing, shaking out her wet hair. 

“Oh, come on! We’re in the South!” Gendry realized, not for the first time, that she was absolutely mad. Bonkers. Off her rocker.

“It’s _March_!” What in Seven Hells had he been thinking? Arya disappeared beneath the surface, only to pop up much closer to him. She stood up, and his eyes were glued to her tits as they were presented to him, pale and perky and glistening and just fucking _perfect_.

Arya shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” That little -

She was smirking at him, because she _knew_ -

He muttered a string of curses, before biting the bullet and throwing himself deeper into the water, all the way until he was fully submerged. He gasped as he resurfaced, and tried to remember how to breathe. He was really, really fucking cold. 

“Just give it a minute. You’ll get used to it.” He hoped to all the Gods that she knew what she was talking about, because otherwise he may need to be hospitalized shortly. He continued to focus on his breathing - that was the first step to survival, surely. His frozen brain registered how close Arya was getting, and he was pretty sure he heard her mutter something that sounded far too close to ‘ _such_ a baby’ before her lips were back on his. 

And that -

That could warm him up just fine, it seemed. As she slipped her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist -

Suddenly the freezing cold water became nothing more than a minor inconvenience. One he barely noticed. And once she was pressed against him, and his hands re-started the greedy exploration of her skin that had been cut far too short earlier in the evening -

He forgot about the cold entirely. Maybe he got used to it, as she said he would. He thought it was far more likely that having her here, in his arms like this, making the most enticing little noises, spread a fire through him - one the sea was no match for. It was impossible to feel cold when she was writhing against him the way she was, and guiding his hand between her legs -

She was slick, and eager, and perfect, and when he brought his lips to her neck her skin was salty like the sea. She gasped against him, but it wasn’t enough - he wanted her to be out of control, and overwhelmed, quivering in his arms while his name tumbled from her lips. It may be the first chance he got to learn her body, but he was nothing if not _determined._ And he considered himself, in certain things, at least… a reasonably quick study.

Some things she told him, bold as brass, that she wanted, while other things -

He watched her fall apart as he worked his fingers inside her, her head tossed back and her mouth open, the most beautiful moonlit vision he had ever seen -

Other things, he figured out just fine on his own.

***

“I fancy you too, you know.” She was still clinging to him, and her breathing hadn’t quite returned to normal. He hadn’t realized that she’d never actually verbally reciprocated his feelings - he’d been a bit distracted, alright?

And he hadn’t been sure if his heart could swell any more than it already had today, but he’d been wrong. 

He captured her lips with his once more - because he could, now, as often as he wanted. 

This had been a really, _really_ good day.

***

As much as Gendry might have wanted to, they couldn’t stay in the water forever. He remembered how reluctant he’d been to get in at all - now, he considered it one of his favourite places. The best place he’d ever been, maybe. But he was starting to shiver, and when even Arya’s teeth clacked together (she vehemently denied it, but he was not fooled), they rushed back to their discarded clothes, thrown in a heap in the sand. Gendry peeled off his sodden briefs (turning his back to Arya first, feeling a little bit absurd for this display of modesty after what had just transpired) before tugging his sweats back on. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as they made their way along the short path back to the hotel, hand in hand.

***

Arya was snickering as they hurried down the hallway, still amused by her own vivid descriptions of what Hot Pie and Maggie had likely been up to while they were gone (Gendry realized, despairingly, that the more lewd her suggestions were, and the more he blushed, the happier she seemed to get). He didn’t particularly (or, at all) want to be picturing these things - but he certainly wasn’t going to ask Arya to stop when it was bringing her so much joy. They rounded the corner, and -

There was Podrick.

Gendry froze. He never listened especially closely when they were going over the rules of the trip, but he was fairly certain they had some sort of curfew, and they definitely were not supposed to be creating their own co-ed rooms, as they were clearly doing. He blinked rapidly, trying to think of an excuse, or something, some reason him and Arya were wandering the halls this late, together, with her hair soaking wet and her bare legs covered in sand -

Podrick’s gaze seemed particularly focused on their hands, which were still clasped together. Gendry’s heart sank. This had to look suspicious, it had to be painfully obvious to him what was going on here -

Podrick cleared his throat, before turning his eyes to the ceiling, and announcing both loudly and extremely awkwardly, “Well. Nothing to see here.” He abruptly carried on his way, and Gendry waited a beat before letting out a sigh of relief. Arya, on the other hand, dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Gods, he is _so_ soft. Hopeless romantic.” She pushed open the door, and he hesitated only briefly before following her in. The coast appeared to be clear - Hot Pie and Maggie must have stayed in his room.

“I’ve got sand bloody everywhere. I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Arya announced, before once again shimmying out of her shorts. His mouth went dry, and he tried to keep his gaze respectfully up towards the ceiling -

“Are you coming?” Her eyebrow was raised, and she was already far too bare for him to be able to process literally anything. He nodded, and followed her.

***

If he’d enjoyed having Arya in his arms in the sea in the moonlight - it was still nothing compared to having her naked in front of him, in the shower, with all the lights on, as streams of hot water rained down her perfect body. He couldn’t stop his cock from responding if he wanted to, but -

As she took him in her hand (and Gods, her hands were soft), and worked him until his eyes clenched shut and he finished with a curse in absolute record time -

He didn’t think she minded all that much.

***

Spending the night with Arya for the second time was undeniably better than the first. He felt immensely content as he wrapped her in his arms, not needing to worry about where his hands might end up, or what she might think -

He'd barely even finished the thought before he passed out.

***

He still hadn’t wanted to move when the morning came (all too soon) but they had a flight to catch. He grumbled to himself as he lumbered onto the bus heading to the airport - why did everything have to happen at the crack of fucking dawn? Had nobody heard of a flight at, say, 1 PM? Did those just not exist?

His mood improved vastly when Arya slid into the seat next to him, wordlessly passing him her pillow before curling up into his side, tossing a blanket over her legs. The side of his mouth quirked up, and he felt a nearly unbearable swell of affection for her.

***

He felt the beginnings of a swell of a very different variety when her hands found their way into his track pants beneath the blanket she had draped over them. His eyes widened, and he glanced down at her -

She was clearly pretending to be sleeping, the little -

His eyes darted around the bus in a slight panic as her pace increased and the situation became only more dire. Nobody was looking at them, not yet at least, so he’d just have to -

He clenched his eyes shut and focused on keeping his breathing steady as his heart hammered and his hand fisted into her hair.

Gods, he’d been right along.

She’d be the fucking death of him.

(Not that he was complaining.)


	9. April

Gendry had spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to properly have sex with Arya Stark. He’d been thinking about it since he met her, really, so... maybe that was part of the problem. He really didn’t want to fuck it up, and, more than that, he really didn’t want it to be the kind of night that anyone else could ever hold a candle to.

So. Maybe he’d set his goals a little bit lofty, there.

He thought it’d be best to take her on a date, first. Proper-like. She deserved that, at the very least. He was having trouble coming up with said date, though. It was a bit of a road-block. He wanted to do something romantic, but also, something that she wouldn’t hate. Something nobody else would think of, but that wasn’t super weird. Something that was, well -

Cheap, alright, he may have a scholarship now but he still wasn’t exactly in the green, these days. So, cheap, but not… cheap in an obvious way. Obviously.

Was it any wonder he was having trouble?

Despite all of his thinking himself in circles, trying to come up with something absolutely perfect -

It ended up not being anything like what he’d imagined.

Which just made it all the better, really. (For him, at least. Though - Arya seemed pleased enough, if he did say so himself). 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him when she took matters into her own hands. (It did, though - would he ever get used to her? Would she ever stop surprising him?)

It happened the very first time he went to _her_ dorm. That, in itself, maybe should have been a warning sign that she was up to something. She _always_ came to his. But she’d said it was important, and he should come right away, so he had hurried over in all haste.

He knocked on the door, and she told him to come in, and he -

He’d love to say that he took note of her decorations, or something, and maybe photos on the walls, and other things that would tell him more about her and the inner workings of her personality -

He absolutely did _not_ , though, because his brain completely stopped functioning when he entered to find Arya Stark lying on her bed, in nothing but a pair of black knickers that really didn’t leave much to the imagination.

He closed the door with more force than he meant to, and exhaled heavily, feeling a little bit frozen.

“Oh good,” she’d exclaimed. “You’re here. Listen, I promised Maggie I’d keep you out of Hot Pie’s dorm. All night. Is that alright?” 

He tried to remember how to make words. Some kind of alarm was going off in his brain, and he was forcibly ignoring it, as she just lay there like a fucking goddess without a care in the world -

He swallowed, and tried to keep his eyes off her tits. He failed.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course, that’s - that’s great.” His feet must be moving, because he was suddenly much closer to her, and her eyes on him meant nothing but trouble.

“Great,” she breathed, before her arms were around his neck, and she was pulling him down on top of her. She felt like heaven beneath his hands, and he’s sure he never did anything to deserve something like this.

Finally, when they were both panting and she’d pulled his shirt and pants off and was rubbing herself against him as he trailed his lips down her chest -

He remembered, and he stopped abruptly.

“Wait, I -” Arya’s eyes were round as saucers, and she clearly hadn’t been anticipating this interruption. He winced, but tried to carry on.

“I wanted to take you out, first.” It sounded stupid, once he said it out loud, and he groaned internally. But Arya grinned, and there was nothing more beautiful than seeing her smile (especially when her eyes were dark and she had a flush on her cheeks - from _him_ ). 

“Take me out _after_ , instead,” she whispered. And then her lips were on his again, and she was gripping his cock through his briefs, and -

Who was he to deny her, really? She’d presented a pretty good alternative. And once he was sheathed inside her, and she felt better than even his wildest imaginings -

He was glad he listened to her. She definitely had the right idea. He had plenty of time to take her out, but for now -

He closed his eyes for most of it, just focused on lasting long enough to make _something_ happen for her, but when he felt her clench around him, they flew open, and when he saw her fall apart -

He was absolutely done for. 

And afterwards, as they lay together catching their breath, fingers entwined between them, he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. Arya sat up beside him, looking incredibly serious, and he had a flash of concern that he’d been confused about everything, and she wasn’t quite as happy and satisfied as he was -

Until she announced solemnly, “Look at us, making sure our friends have privacy. We are _such_ great people.” 

He pulled her back down onto him, and tried to kiss her as best he could through his laughter. He could feel her smiling into the kiss, and his heart was light. 

Until she straddled him, and then -

Well, he certainly wasn’t laughing anymore.

***

As it turned out, winning Nationals this year meant the team had set some sort of record. Despite having no idea this was even a thing, Gendry couldn’t help but feel pleased. 

Unfortunately, the result of this was a feature for the local news, the process of which was decidedly _not_ pleasant. They’d all been mandated to show up at the gym, back in their uniforms, and smile and wave at the cameras as they stood in some awkward line-up -

Gendry tried to avoid it, but he was outnumbered by Hot Pie and Arya, who stood on either side of him looking varying degrees of threatening. Hot Pie made it clear that he would grab his arm and wave it _for_ him if he did not cooperate (Gendry had no doubt of his sincerity in this matter). He waved on his own.

He still didn’t smile, though. He had his limits.

They then performed portions of their routine while Brienne gave yet another impassioned speech, this time to the camera-crew. And, really, winning things was great, but Gendry did not particularly care for any of this. He really could have done without this entire morning.

It did seem to put Arya in a good mood, though. An _exceedingly_ good mood, if her enthusiasm in dragging him towards her room was any indication.

***

Her lips on his still made his head spin, and before he knew it she was tugging his uniform top off and tossing it haphazardly behind her. His breath hitched as her hands danced over his bare skin, and then she was pushing him back onto the bed.

His day was really looking up, actually.

He stared at her, standing breathless in front of him, the physical embodiment of so many fantasies, as her hands reached for the bottom of her uniform top -

“Wait.” His voice came out rougher than he had expected, and he watched as surprise and (just maybe) a flicker of doubt flashed across her face. He wet his lips and his heart hammered and he tried to work up the courage to just _tell her_ what he wanted.

“Just…” His eyes trailed over her, and she must have moved closer to him at some point because if he reached out he could touch her -

“Leave it on?” His gaze was locked on hers, and his stomach swooped as one of her eyebrows twitched, and he just hoped she wouldn’t think him some randy teenager (because he sure as all hells felt like one).

“Oh,” she breathed out, and it was so quiet he thought he might have imagined it. The air felt suspended between them for just a moment, and he let out a breath, ready to tell her to forget about it, he was joking, it didn’t need to be a _thing_ -

“You’re terrible,” she told him (as if he didn’t already know), but her eyes were dark, and she was smiling in a way that made him sure he would do anything she asked. But maybe she would do the same, as she slipped her panties off, leaving the skirt alone, and then she was too close for him to think about anything.

Slowly, she straddled his lap, and one of his hands burrowed into her hair while the other slipped up beneath her skirt, as he had dreamed of doing more times than he could count -

“When it comes to you?” He murmured against her ear. She took a shaky breath as his fingers teased her, and his cock ached at the sight of her, on top of him like this. “You have _no_ idea.” 

She let out a little whimper at this, and the sound was almost enough to make him lose all resolve, end his teasing and bury himself inside her -

“Then tell me,” she whispered.

And once he started, he didn’t have to worry about his lack of patience, as Arya was tugging at the top of his pants, before pulling them down and hurriedly guiding him towards her entrance -

He tried to tell her more, after that, but very few words came to mind other than ‘fuck’ and ‘Gods’ and ‘Arya’, so he repeated those like a gasping prayer until, with a shudder, she fell apart on top of him.

He found his own release almost immediately after, and when he lay back trying to calm his racing heart, he couldn’t help but think that he really ought to tell her things more often, if it was going to go like this. Why in Seven Hells had he been grumpy before? He couldn’t remember.

***

He was sitting with Arya, in his room, a habit that was now all too common, as they both studied for their upcoming finals. He was on his laptop, reviewing the lecture slides and attempting to quiz himself at the same time - it wasn’t going particularly well, but he hoped for the best if he kept at it.

He was utterly, completely, incomprehensibly unprepared for the email that came through.

Once he read it, he promptly began coughing - he’d chosen a woefully poor time to try to have a sip of coffee. Arya looked up at him in amusement, clearly about to start teasing him -

Her face shifted almost immediately to concern.

That wasn’t good. It meant he was still absolutely shit at hiding any sort of feelings whatsoever.

“What is it?” She asked with a bit of a frown.

Gendry’s eyes were still watering slightly from both choking on and attempting to swallow his cold cafeteria coffee. He just shook his head helplessly.

Because how would he explain this to her? He didn’t know what it meant himself. He turned the laptop screen and email towards her, before glaring resolutely at the ceiling.

He waited with bated breath for her to finish reading it. It’s not like it was very long, but still. Apparently emails didn’t have to be long to completely fuck with your head (and possibly life). 

“What do you think?” Arya said in a small voice. Gendry kept his gaze on the ceiling, and shrugged. He didn’t know what the hell he thought about any of this shit. So how was he supposed to answer?

“Gendry. Look at me.” He pursed his lips, and had the absurd notion that _no_ , he _wouldn’t_ look at her -

He berated himself mentally. Was he still a petulant child? He was a grown man. He could at least look Arya in the eye. He wasn’t big enough to keep the frown off his face, though. Or to uncross his arms. He’s sure he looked quite the sight, glowering at her when none of this was her fault. The look on her face was almost enough to soothe some of the storm inside him. 

Almost. 

Her eyes were wide, and concerned… for him. She reached out and grasped his arm.

“Hey. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Whatever you’re feeling… it’s okay to feel that way.” Gendry’s chest constricted, and he felt even more emotion wash over him. More feelings that he didn’t know what to do with. He didn’t _know_ what he was feeling, that was the whole damn problem. 

But, he supposed… it didn’t need to have a name, necessarily. If it was fine for him to feel it, regardless, no matter what it was. He exhaled through his nose. Arya chewed on her lip.

“Do you want me to leave?” Gendry snapped his eyes back to hers, and he was surprised by the conviction he felt when he shook his head ‘no’. Arya was still hesitating - a rush of guilt flooded through him.

That, at least, was a feeling he was familiar with. He didn’t ever want to make her feel unwanted, or uncomfortable, or any of that -

None of this shit was her fault. He uncrossed his arms, and pulled her into his lap.

“Please, stay.” He murmured into her hair. He didn’t look at her - not now. But he didn’t want her to leave. Just having her here, someone who cared about him, and wanted him to be okay - it was more than he’d had in ages, and he didn’t know what to do with it, but he sure as all hells wasn’t going to drive it away if he could help it.

“I don’t know how I feel. About any of it.” His voice was quiet, and he wished it didn’t sound so small. That _he_ didn’t sound so small.

“That’s okay,” Arya whispered, and rubbed her small hands along his back, and through his hair. To his utter bewilderment, he felt like he wanted to cry.

He wouldn’t. But still.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh and fruity scent of her shampoo as he did. His heart was battering against his ribs, and his throat still felt tight.

And then Arya was kissing him, softly, and sweetly, and slowly, until she was all he could think about. Just Arya and her soothing hands and her caring eyes and her tiny, warm body pressed against his.

She pulled away (after how long, he absolutely could not say) and rested her forehead against his, her fingers threading through the hairs at the back of his neck. He met her eyes, and he was almost overwhelmed, again, with emotion, but it was different this time, he felt like he was flying rather than _drowning_ and he didn’t know how he could ever express to her what she meant to him -

_I love you._

“Come on,” she smiled at him, and hopped off of his lap. “Let’s go for a walk. Clear our heads a bit.” She took his hand, and he let her pull him up. 

Spring was here, and he knew, as they walked the grounds, that the North was beautiful, as weak sunlight shone through the trees, and the grass beneath their feet was no longer covered in snow -

He didn’t care at all, though, because everything paled in comparison to Arya. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, entwined with his, and couldn’t keep the soft smile off his face, and the cursed email he had received was, for the moment, forgotten.

***

From: [ renly@baratheoncorp.com ](mailto:renly@baratheoncorp.com)

To: [ gwaters@winterfellu.com ](mailto:gwaters@winterfellu.com)

Subject: Introduction

Gendry,

I hope this email finds you well. 

I have struggled, over the past several weeks, with how to appropriately broach this subject.

It has been brought to my attention (first by Brienne Tarth, then later by Ned Stark) that it would be beneficial for us to meet.

Although we didn’t have a chance to converse directly, I was able to attend the event at Maegor’s Centre last month, and confirm for myself what both Ned and Brienne had merely suspected regarding our relation.

I want to be clear that you are free to approach this situation (if you so choose) on your own time. I apologize if this comes as a shock to you. I am, as you surely can imagine, not accustomed to writing emails of this nature.

If ever you’d like to know more about your father, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Renly Baratheon

Vice President 

Baratheon Corporations

***

It didn’t remain forgotten for long. Any time he thought of it, he found himself scowling and clenching his teeth and trying, desperately, to think of something (anything) else. He had _finals_ to study for, he couldn’t keep getting distracted by -

Whatever the fuck that was.

Who, in all of Westeros, sends a fucking email like that?

His thoughts ran around in circles, over and over, as he tried to make sense of everything without responding to it and, therefore, without any more information than he had the very first time he read it.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have much luck.

All he knew was that Coach Brienne and Ned Stark had told this Renly character about him (what the fuck?) and the man had decided, without ever actually meeting him or speaking to him (or… didn’t people take, like, DNA tests, or something?) that they had ‘a relation’. 

He’d been sorely tempted, the next day, to just delete it and throw it into a ‘spam’ folder (because, sure, it had rattled him at first, but after thinking about it more - it was clearly a ridiculous joke or something). And he almost did, until he remembered -

Most memories he had of Nationals had seemed to blur and fade compared to what had happened that night, with Arya, but…

He remembered the man in the suit, with Ned Stark, and Brienne, and they were _looking_ at him, and -

He dropped his head onto his textbook with a frustrated grunt. He hoped Renly fucking Baratheon would be pleased when he failed all of his finals because he was distracted by the most fucked up email he’d ever received.

“What do you think I should do?” He was still face-first in his textbook, but Arya heard him. And, thank the Gods, knew immediately what he was referring to. She made a sympathetic noise, and before he knew it she was running her hands through his hair.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” she murmured quietly. 

He raised his head at this, and sent her a confused frown.

“You’re not. I’m asking.” 

She sighed a bit, and chewed on her lip, seemingly weighing what she wanted to say.

“I think…” She met his eyes, and hers were wide and light and… sad. He wondered what she saw in his.

“I think not knowing is the worst thing there is.”

Gendry let out a breath, and a slow nod, and tried his best to give her a smile. He’s pretty sure it didn’t work. He entwined their hands, and gave hers a squeeze. He knew it wasn’t enough, not nearly, to let her know how much he appreciated her, and how grateful he was that she was here with him, and he had someone he could talk to, about anything -

_I love you._

From the smile she gave him, though, he thought she might already know.

***

Every time Gendry thought the cheerleading ‘season’ was officially over, he was smacked in the face with something else that they had to do. He was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that it actually _never_ ended - it just went on and on and on, forever. This thought made him a little bit concerned.

The next event he was being forced into was the ‘end of year banquet’. Great. There was nothing he loved more than fancy parties where people celebrated themselves. No, really. Just, the best.

He scowled as he tried (and failed) for what felt like the tenth time to tie his tie. He grunted in frustration and threw it to the side. Fuck the tie. 

He was wearing the one collared shirt he owned, the one pair of dress pants he owned, and the one pair of ‘proper’ shoes he owned. He was not going to wear the one tie he owned. (Because, really, fuck the tie.)

***

Once he was sat beside Arya Stark, though, and she was wearing some slinky kind of dress thing with some very distracting cut-outs, smiling at him and leaning into his shoulder…

Gods, she had ruined him. He might, actually, just a little bit, be enjoying himself. Not that he would _ever_ admit that.

He caught himself grinning during Podrick’s speech, as he recalled moments from the season that he hadn’t even necessarily ever thought of fondly. Somehow, now that it was all over, he missed it despite not enjoying it at the time. How was that possible?

He almost laughed at one point, as Lommy gave an entertaining toast of his favourite memories of his last year on the team as the captain. Gendry quickly covered his snort with a cough. Arya eyed him suspiciously, but luckily made no mention of it. He cleared his throat and muttered to Arya, “Reckon you’ll be the captain next year?”

She just looked at him, eyebrows up. 

“Think how much you’d get to boss me around.” He could sense, almost immediately, that he had fallen into some kind of trap. One he didn’t even fully understand, but Arya was smirking at him, and he’s sure whatever he’d said was all her fault.

“Next year, eh?” Ah. Right. Shit. That was it. He frowned at her. How had this happened? Was being on the team next year even something he was considering? If it wasn't, why the fuck would he have said that? He’d hated every moment of it… hadn’t he? He felt too jumbled up to think of a way out of it just then, and instead settled for, “Shut up.” 

This just seemed to amuse her more, and he was sure that the look in her eyes, as they dropped to his lips, meant nothing but trouble.

He was fine with that.

“D’you wanna get out of here?” She breathed, so close to him he could barely think. A bolt of heat shot through him at the promise of what was to come.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

***

He pressed her up against the dorm room door, nipping at her neck while she fumbled with his belt buckle. His hands roamed over the slippery fabric of her dress, reveling, as always, in the fact that he could touch her _wherever_ now, whenever he wanted, and she -

She’d freed his cock, and thrown her arms around his neck, and before he knew it her legs were wrapped around him. It was so similar to how she’d first kissed him, and the memory made him smile as he captured her lips with his. His hands slid up, under her dress, to cup her ass, and -

He wondered, dazedly, if she’d removed her knickers at some point while he was distracted, or if she’d never had any on at all.

As he pressed his hips against her, and her breath caught, he realized he really didn’t give a damn how it had happened. All that mattered was that Arya Stark was in his arms, and his cock was rubbing against the heat of her, with nothing to separate them, and -

He took her right up against the door, with his one collared shirt and one pair of dress pants and one pair of proper shoes all still on. 

***

He told Arya Stark he loved her two days before he met Renly Baratheon. 

He’d figured, all things considered, Arya was right. Not knowing _had_ to be worse than anything this man could tell him. 

That didn’t stop him from feeling ill at the thought of meeting him. The closer it got, the dread he felt only increased.

He told Arya as much, and when she offered, so effortlessly and simply, to come with him, the weak hold he’d had on his emotions (and his sense that it was too _soon_ ) had snapped, and he’d blurted it right out.

And the playful way she’d smirked, with one eyebrow raised, and said, “I know” -

He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her, and showing her just how much.

After, when she lay breathless beneath him, while he was still inside her, thinking he might just never leave -

She told him she loved him too, with a smile and sparkling eyes, and he hadn’t had any more words to tell her how happy that made him, so he just kissed her again.

And again, and again, and he would be fine if he never stopped.

***

(And when the time finally came for the dreaded meeting, Arya was right there with him. She was there when he learned his father had been named Robert, and that he was no longer living. She was by his side while he sat stunned, and later, when he yelled, and even later than that, when the sorrow overtook him. And much, much later, when he met his cousin, Shireen, and his half-brother, Edric, and his half-sisters, Mya and Bella - she was there with him, for all of it.)

He wondered, sometimes, if he ever would have known any of them, or any of it, if it wasn’t for her, and he just -

He loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a huge enormous thank you to everyone who read this story! I had so much fun writing it and appreciate you all more than I could ever say!  
> I hope this came to a satisfying conclusion, and that the story on the whole made you smile! Thank you for coming on this journey with me :)))

**Author's Note:**

> HI  
> This is for fun and shits & giggles - I am not taking this very seriously and hope nobody else does either ;)  
> If you're having fun, let me know  
> If you're not, don't tell me, I literally will crumble and collapse <3


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